


Weekends

by Mrs Addams (Scoutieout)



Series: Together [3]
Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Happy(ish) ending, Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:21:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27656762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scoutieout/pseuds/Mrs%20Addams
Summary: “So what do you want to do this weekend?” The Priest asked.  They were finishing up dinner in her flat on Friday night, his first official weekend off in, well, years.  She gave him “the look”, which made him laugh.  “OK, besides that.  We have three whole days, after all.”
Series: Together [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993657
Comments: 34
Kudos: 68





	1. Mouna, Pt. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be snippets of how Fleabag and Priest spend their weekends together, making slight references to my previous works in this series. First up, a little friendly competition that leads to some truths being revealed.

“So what do you want to do this weekend?” The Priest asked. They were finishing up dinner in her flat on Friday night, his first official weekend off in, well, years. She gave him “the look”, which made him laugh. “OK, besides that. We have three whole days, after all.”

She topped off their wine glasses and looked thoughtful. “Hmm, not sure. I’ve got the café covered, so I don’t have to worry about that at all. It’s a bit weird having uninterrupted time, isn’t it? I’m used to at least one of us having to dash off to something or other. I’m not sure how to do ‘leisurely’ time together.”

“I haven’t had time off in forever, so I have no clue. Sorry about not going out of town, but I wanted to be nearby in case Deacon Michael needed help.”

“You mean if he fucks up mass and everyone flees in fury?” She grinned over her wine glass.

“No, I was thinking more along the lines of needing to know where something was or got cold feet.”

“Isn’t Pam there? She can set him straight. She seems to know everything that goes on in your church.”

“I suppose so.” He took a sip of wine and put his chin in his hand. “You know, back in the day, I would have done something completely boring like clearing the cupboard or taking a vow of silence or something.”

“Wow, call you Mr. Excitement, then. A vow of silence? Ugh.” She shuddered at the thought. “Why?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know, just take a step back from everything and quiet down the chaos around me. You know, get introspective and sort my shit out. I still do it occasionally, though it’s been awhile.”

“And does it help?”

“It led me back to you after the wedding, so I’d say yeah, it does. It’s kind of a form of meditation, mouna, and I did it quite a bit after we split up. It made me realize that I couldn’t function properly without you in my life somehow.”

“Well, thank you Moana for making you see the light!” She joked.

“Mouna,” he corrected. “It can actually be quite difficult, trying to silence everything and look inward. Ideally you’re not supposed to communicate at all, no social media, texts, writing things down.”

“I’ve done it before, “ she replied. “Claire and I were sent on a retreat where we had to be completely silent the whole time.”

“How did it turn out?”

She thought back to that weekend: seeing her Bank Manager and pouring her heart out to him; telling Claire about Martin’s advances and all the repercussions that followed. “Not great.” She admitted. 

“With Claire, I could imagine. She about lost her mind when you were quiet for an hour at dinner, I don’t see how she could stand a whole weekend without you talking.”

“Claire loses her mind over a lot of things I say and don’t say,” she stated proudly. She really missed having her sister around to tease and irritate. Texting inappropriate pictures just wasn’t the same.

“There’s something we can do, see who outlasts the other.” He suggested, a small grin forming.

“You seriously want to spend our first weekend of freedom in silence?” She asked in disbelief. “What, like staring at one another across the room and waiting to see who blinks first?” _Actually, that might be kind of hot_ , she thought.

“Maybe…we could even put a little wager on it, see who’s more competitive.”

“Ooh, like whoever loses has to do anything the other asked? As long as it’s consensual, that is.” She was intrigued; this might be worth giving a try.

“Now we’re talking. I can think of plenty of things you could do…” He put his chin in his hand again, staring off into space dreamily.

“What makes you think you’d win?” She scoffed.

“I’ve had more practice than you at this. I don’t see you lasting beyond an hour.”

“That’s what she said!” She couldn’t resist.

“Har, har, so mature.” He rolled his eyes. “What do you say?”

“OK, starting when?”

“How about after we clear up the dishes?”

“Sure, just in time for you to fuck up by bedtime and have to do whatever I bid.” She got up to get another bottle of wine, knowing that would loosen his lips right up rather quickly.

The Priest shook his head. “Nope, I’m gonna outlast you, hands down.”  
  


“That’s what sh—”

“Seriously, twice?” He shook his head, chuckling. “Let’s lay down a few ground rules before we start, though. No writing anything down, no texting…”  
  


“What if someone texts one of us?” 

“Then it’s up to you to answer. Come to think of it, though, Mike might need me for something…OK, minimal texting to one another, though. Like, only two.”

“Three. And talking in my sleep doesn’t count.”

“It’s so adorable! But yes, I won’t hold it against you.”

“Have I ever said anything incriminating?” She winced, worried that she’d spilled some of her darkest secrets or fears while asleep.

“No, mostly gibberish. You growled ‘Martin’ once and punched my shoulder, though.”

“He probably had it coming.” Martin, that wanker. “You know, you moan in your sleep a lot.” She gave him a mischevious smile.

“Ugh, really? That’s so embarrassing!”

“I think it’s kind of hot, actually. I’ve been tempted to climb on top of you when you do it to see if you’d even wake up.”

“I hereby give you permission to do just that the next time I do it, then.” He sat back and folded his arms, wry smile on his face.

“I thought you were having a wank the first time you did it.”

  
“What?” he sputtered. “I wouldn’t do that with you right in the bed next to me!”

“Why not? I have.”

“And I slept through it?!” he yelled in disbelief, slapping his hands down on the table.

“No, not you,” she laughed. “With Harry. He was asleep, and I was watching something on my laptop, got in the mood and didn’t want to deal with him, so I took care of business. He was really pissed when he woke up and caught me, though.”

“I bet,” he laughed. “What were you watching? Porn?”

“No…” she shook her head, too embarrassed to admit it.

“Come on!” he pleaded. “Was it a movie or show? Weeknd video? Cat playing piano?”

“No!” she laughed. “It was….argh, this is embarrassing….it was one of President Obama’s speeches.” She covered her face with her hands, peeking at him through her fingers.

“Wow.” He sat back in his chair, thinking to himself for a moment. “Must have been one hell of a speech.” She tossed her napkin at him. “Just promise me you’ll wake me up if the urge hits you again some night.”

“Why, so you can join in?” she asked coyly.

“No, so I can watch.” He finished off his wine and grinned.

As they cleared away the dishes, they decided on one more rule: If one of them wanted to leave the flat, the other had to go, too, for accountability. “Not that it’s going to come to that,” she said lightly. “I’m going to have you singing by the end of the night.”

“We’ll see.”

Once they were done, they headed to the sitting room. “Ready?” he asked. 

She nodded. “You don’t stand a chance. I’m going to spend my silent time contemplating all the naughty things you’re gonna do for me when I win, and fair warning, you’ll most likely be naked doing it.”

“Awfully big talk for someone who can’t control her mouth most days.” He smirked.

“OK, you smug ass, let’s go. Three…”

“Two…” he counted.

“One.” They both said, then stood and stared at one another for a moment. The Priest rubbed the back of his neck and raised his eyebrows, daring her to give up within the first minute. She narrowed her eyes at him a bit, then wound her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss meant to bring him to his knees.

It didn’t.

Instead, he backed away from her and dropped onto the couch, inviting her with open arms. She grabbed the remote and snuggled up with him, turning on the TV and putting on a movie. She was embarrassed to admit just how domestic they usually were on Friday nights; the week just caught up with them and they ended up crashing early most weekends, avoiding going out and content to enjoy one another’s company, like an old, boring married couple.

She was also embarrassed to admit how much she loved it. 

Times spent like this with Harry were unbearably boring, but she treasured these quiet nights in with her love. Maybe it was because they were still in the honeymoon phase of their relationship, but there were some days where she was quite happy to just shut out the world and exist as just the two of them. 

Sometimes she wondered who she was becoming.

Only half watching the movie, she debated what she could do to make him break first. Alcohol usually got him chatty, so she’d made sure to keep topping his glass often earlier. Didn’t seem to be working tonight, though. Maybe she’d drag him out for brunch tomorrow, even though they weren’t really the brunch type. Still, the thought of him trying to keep silent in public when he usually chatted up anyone made her laugh, so maybe that was the way to go. She glanced back at him, only to find that he was already asleep.

 _Cheating bastard_.

She sighed, wondering if all the alcohol she’d plied him with had backfired. She actually was feeling kind of tired, too, so she gently swatted his chest to wake him enough to get him to bed. He jerked awake, giving her a startled look before stretching and yawning. She rose off the couch, taking both his hands to tug him upstairs.

Once they had changed, the Priest pulled her close for a goodnight kiss. It was one of the things she found hopelessly endearing about him; he always insisted on it. Sometimes it was a passionate post-sex snog that left her weak; other times it was as simple as a chaste peck. It’s almost like he couldn’t fully settle for the night until he’d gotten it, and it was one of the sweet things she loved about him.

He dropped into bed while she went to the loo. She returned to the bedroom and switched off the light, grabbing her laptop to finish the movie from earlier. As it whirred to life, she found a clip of President Obama’s second inauguration speech queued up and gave a snort of laughter. The Priest giggled sleepily next to her, eyes closed and blankets wrapped around him. She leaned down and kissed his forehead, smiling to herself. 

The next morning, she awoke much too early to discover she was alone in the bed. She could hear the Priest moving around the flat, and found toast and tea on the bedstand beside her. She smiled at how sweet the gesture was, until he appeared in her doorway to check to see if she was awake. He motioned down his body to indicate his running clothes and looked at her expectantly.

 _Oh, fuck that very much_ , she thought, shaking her head vehemently and throwing the duvet over her head. He cleared his throat, causing her to peek out at him. He tapped his watch and nodded his head, silently reminding her that if one of them wanted to leave the flat, the other had to follow. She shook her head again, so he cupped his hand to his ear to indicate that she could voice her displeasure or drag herself out of bed and comply.

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction, she made a big production of tossing the duvet aside and stalking to the bathroom. He leaned against the doorframe, waiting for her as she dug out her running clothes and got dressed. She absolutely wanted to scream at him to stop beaming his “Good Day Sunshine” vibes at her, but during the night she had decided what she wanted him to do if she won their little competition and was determined to see it through.

 _Fit bastard_.

They stepped outside much earlier than she liked to on a weekend to a crisp, beautiful morning. The sidewalk was already filled with dog walkers and other fit-minded people, so they walked a bit until the area ahead of them cleared out somewhat. The Priest tapped her wrist and started to jog, keeping the pace slow and steady to start. She had dabbled a bit in jogging when she was trying to turn her life around, so she had no trouble keeping up. In fact, she felt like he was intentionally going slow for her, and she was not having that at all. She sped up the pace just to show him she could handle it, and pretty soon they were moving along at a good clip, breathing heavily and turning to run into the park.

Around 25 minutes in, she found she was actually enjoying the jog, though she would never admit it to him. When they had been just friends, he had talked her into coming out to run a few times, but she had only agreed so she could spend time with him (and ogle him in his tight running shirts). Once she got past the ‘I’m going to die’ part of a run and the endorphins kicked in, she questioned why she didn’t do it more often.

At 35 minutes in, she remembered why. She developed a painful stitch in her side and grabbed the Priest’s arm, alerting him that she was going to slow to a walk for a bit. He ran ahead a little bit, then turned around to face her, jogging slowly backward. She held her side and waved him off, but he shook his head and started to make his way back to her.

“Father!” someone called from ahead of them. _Ah, here we go!_ she thought to herself and smiled: there was no way he was going to be rude and ignore a parishioner. Victory was within reach.

“I thought that was you!” An older gentleman approached them, and the Priest glanced over at her before returning his attention to the parishioner. “You’re out early this fine morning!”

The Priest waved and then held his finger to his lips. “Ah, one of your silent weekends, then?” The parishioner chuckled, shaking his hand. The Priest nodded and smiled.

 _What. The. Fuck_.

She didn’t know if she should be more irritated at the turn of events, or that this random stranger happened to know more about her love’s weird silent habits than she did.

“And you, young lady, are you taking some silent time, too?” He addressed her, smiling kindly. 

She smiled back, pleased at being referred to as young, and shrugged her shoulders sheepishly. Maybe this guy wasn’t so bad after all.

“Stick with this good man, he won’t steer you wrong.” The parishioner said, patting her arm before bidding them goodbye. The Priest looked at her with an impish grin, then nodded his head to indicate they should start moving again. She rolled her eyes and joined him, the pain in her side gone. 

They were halfway back to her flat when they finally slowed to a walk, then took a seat on a bench in the park. She looked around as she caught her breath, and discovered they were sitting by what she thought of as their tree: the place where they had met up in the park the day the Vatican changed the celibacy rules for priests and where they had officially rekindled their romantic relationship. She wondered if they were at the bench intentionally.

The Priest nodded his head towards the tree and pulled her up from the bench. Yep, definitely intentional.

They settled on the ground in the shade of the tree, facing one another cross-legged just like they had that fateful day. The Priest grabbed a handful of grass and playfully tossed it at her, poking fun at the anxiety that he had felt that day when he had nearly pulled up half the grass in the park. They hadn’t been back here together in months, but she always smiled whenever she passed the spot when she was out and about. It made her happy to see it and remember their promises to one another.

She was about to toss some grass at him when something over his shoulder caught her eye. The Priest followed her gaze, then smiled to himself. She got up and went over to the tree to get a better look, and sure enough, there was a date carved into it.

The date the Vatican made the proclamation. Their date, when their new life together started. 

She traced her fingers over it, feeling a swell of emotions. The Priest slipped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. She turned her head slightly to face him, desperate to ask him about it but steadfast in her commitment to silence. Instead she kissed him, hoping he knew how touched she was. She leaned her head against his as they swayed a little on the spot, and she decided that she definitely had to get him talking soon so she could collect her reward. 

She turned in his arms and he kissed her again, showing none of the apprehension he’d had that day of kissing her in the park in front of other people. Pulling apart before they could take things any further, they returned to her flat at a leisurely pace, hand in hand.

Once back at the flat, they showered and got dressed for the day, unsure what to do with themselves. She was starting to feel frustrated at their lack of talking and was so close to just yelling out anything to end it. All the silence was starting to get to her, and it really made her realize how much she loved the sound of his voice. It had only been a few hours, but she missed hearing it. This whole stupid competition was feeling silly and pointless; she didn’t feel that she’d discovered anything profound about herself and definitely didn’t feel like she’d sorted any of her shit out.

Well, now, there was something to do. She pulled her junk drawer out of the cabinet and dumped its contents on her kitchen table. Might as well be productive.

She was well into sorting out all of the miscellaneous crap she’d stuffed into it over the years when the Priest wandered over and joined her at the table. He started gathering all the pens from the pile (no wonder she could never find anything to write with; every writing utensil she’d ever owned was sitting crammed in the drawer all this time). He found some paper and tested each one out, throwing out the ones that had run dry. Pretty soon he was drawing little doodles, dogs and aliens and silly little characters.

She was just about done sorting when she glanced over at his paper. He was busy drawing an intricate Celtic knot, brow furrowed in concentration and tongue slightly sticking out like a 5 year old. He was actually quite good at drawing, something else she didn’t know about him until today. Maybe this whole silence thing was really useful for something after all. She grabbed a pen and slid the paper away from him, drawing (or attempting to draw) a Celtic love knot, just to let him know she could draw a little, too. She studied it, deciding it was slightly messed up and started to cross it out. He snatched the paper away from her before she could, and filled it in with a green pen. 

He finished the border of the page in the Celtic knot, then started to draw two figures in the middle of the page. She turned her head and discovered one of the figures was wearing a low cut jumpsuit; he was drawing them the night they met. He added his name and date in the corner before pushing the paper back to her to sign, too. She then took it from him and made a production of putting it on the fridge, like she was a proud mum. She ruffled his hair and put the drawer back in place. 

That was actually kind of fun, come to think of it. 

The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully, each of them holding fast to the vow of silence and taking the competition quite seriously. She wondered what he had in store for her if she cracked first. The thought of having to do whatever he commanded was kind of a turn-on. She was half tempted to give up just to see what he’d make her do.

They had a simple dinner (takeaway ordered online, no need to talk to anyone and sending off the Door Dash person with a simple wave). They settled on opposite ends of the sitting room, she on the couch and he curled up in her corner chair (he had claimed it as his own pretty soon after they started dating). She regarded him, twisted up like a pretzel (honestly, it was like he couldn’t handle sitting in a chair like a normal person sometimes), book in hand, and decided to send him a text to try to get a reaction.

 _Guess what? I’m pregnant!_ She texted, followed by emojis of a baby and heart eyes.

He glanced at his phone and his head jerked up sharply. He regarded her with narrowed eyes and sent a text back.

_No, you’re not._

Bloody nerve. _How the hell would you know? It’s my body!_

_You’ve just had your cycle, the timing is off._

Observant bastard.

_Also, please don’t joke about that._

Hmm, she definitely struck a nerve there. She looked up to find him shaking his head slowly at her, an unreadable look on his face. She wasn’t sure what his stance on children was; they’d never really discussed it. She wondered if, since he was a priest, they’d have to get married if she accidently got pregnant, like teenagers in the 60s or something. She should’ve known he wouldn’t fall for that via text, anyway.

Well, now what? Here they were on a Saturday night, not speaking for almost 24 hours, when they could have spent the weekend doing more productive (and vocal) things. She sat up suddenly – how could she have been so foolish? Sure, last night they’d been too tired, but there was nothing stopping a little friskiness tonight. She knew her man couldn’t come without yelling out something, be it a curse word, her name or proclamations of love. Then again, neither could she, so this was definitely going to have to be one-sided. It was time to put an end to this nonsense once and for all.

She stood up and slowly sauntered over to him, taking _The Talented Mr. Ripley_ out of his hands and tossing it aside. He looked at her in annoyance until she slid into his lap and wound her arms around him, leaning down and kissing him soundly. She pulled back, noting that his expression had definitely softened. He pulled her back in for a slow kiss, almost causing her to change her mind and just ride him until they both broke the silence, but she forced herself to stay on course. 

Breaking away from the kiss, she kept eye contact while leaving his lap and lowering to her knees in front of him. He straightened up eagerly, breath hitching slightly. She ran her hands up and down his thighs, glad he was in thin pajama pants so she didn’t have to dig through any layers. She teased him, getting closer and closer, then retreating. She glanced up at him and raised her eyebrows, looking for consent. He gave a “go ahead” gesture, and she smiled before lowering his pants, freeing him. She could see that he was fully ready for her, and she wasted no time in taking him in her mouth. 

She pulled out all her tricks, loving the sound of his labored breathing. She teased and alternated her pace between sensual and frantic, driving him higher and higher. She looked up, finding him with his head tipped back, elbows out to the side while his hands were fisted in his eyes. His chest was heaving, Adam’s apple bobbing, and once again she was tempted to climb on and get herself off, too. She loved being able to bring him pleasure and was positive he would voice his appreciation after the performance she was giving him.

She could tell he was close by the way his legs were tensing, so she employed the swirl she knew he loved to finish him off. It had the desired effect and he held his breath as he came, and she listened intently for whatever he would inevitably yell, and….nothing. 

Seriously?

She sat back, wiping her mouth while he caught his breath. He slowly tipped his head forward and gave her a look that was pure sex ( _oh, my God_ , _fuck me right now_ , she thought), then brought his hands together and started to clap slowly.

_Smug bastard._

She huffed in annoyance and pushed herself up, using his knees for leverage while he laughed. She’d smack him if she didn’t love his laugh so much.

Well, that backfired, and now she was all worked up herself to boot. She stalked to the loo, cleaning up and contemplating her next move. When she emerged, she found the Priest waiting for her, a predatory look in his eyes, beckoning her over with his finger.

Looked like turnabout was fair play, and she was all for it.

He directed her over to the couch, all but shoving her down onto it and tugging down her shorts. In one swift move he pushed her legs apart and dove right to her center, giving none of his usual teasing kisses up her thighs. It was her turn to enjoy being pleasured, and the fact that she was already halfway there because of what she did to him made her feel sexy. Pretty soon his fingers joined his talented tongue, and she emitted breathy little whimpers. She was so caught up in the sensations that she almost voiced her appreciation, but ended up biting down on the pad of her hand below her thumb to keep any words from escaping. She grabbed a handful of his hair as she came, desperate to moan his name but trying hard to stay silent. 

The Priest draped his arms across her knees, resting his chin on his hands and grinning up at her proudly. She traced her fingers over the half moon bite mark on her hand, then felt a tap on her knee and found him holding up his hand, sporting an identical bite mark. They both laughed at discovering they’d used similar tactics to stay quiet. She pulled her pants back up and held her arms out to him, inviting him to join her on the couch. They laid together awhile, satiated and relaxed. Maybe a literal quiet night at home was just what they needed after all.

They headed to bed soon after, and she was surprised to find that a day of being quiet was actually quite exhausting. Going for a run at the crack of dawn didn’t help, for sure. He reached for her in the dark for their goodnight kiss, delivering one that managed to be both sweet and sinful at the same time. She soon drifted off to sleep, ideas to finally make him break spinning in her mind.

The next morning she awoke to find he was still in bed with her, along with _The Talented Mr. Ripley_. He wasn’t joking when he said he was a big reader. No run today, then, thank fuck. She snuggled in close and laid her head on his chest while he read, lulled back to sleep by his rhythmic breathing and steady, comforting heartbeat. 

She woke again some time later, embarrassed to find she’d drooled a little on his shirt. She stretched and climbed out of bed, heading to the loo. After washing her face and cleaning her teeth, she regarded herself in the mirror and came to one conclusion: she was feeling incredibly horny. She wasn’t sure if it was the fact that it was a sunny Sunday morning and her love was here or what, but she wanted to take advantage of the extra time they had together. Usually sex on a Sunday happened before the sun came up or after it went down, since he had Sunday masses and other obligations at the church. Now, though, it was time to seize the day.

She stripped out of her pajamas to make her intentions clear, then headed back to the bedroom. She stood in the doorway, tapping her fingers on the doorframe to get his attention. The Priest took one look at her and wasted no time in tossing Mr. Ripley aside, kicking off the duvet and divesting himself of his pajamas. She laughed at the swiftness of the move and climbed across the bed to him, pulling him up to a sitting position and wrapping her arms and legs around him. She kissed him slowly, grinding her wetness on his rising cock, unhurried since they had all the time in the world. Pretty soon he shifted so that he was inside her, and they rocked together, kissing and gazing at one another with pure lust. Not talking only heightened the sounds around them, and the room was filled with their sighs and heavy breathing, which mingled with the chirps of birds outside. Even the sounds of their kissing sounded amplified, which led to her quickly coming with her head tipped back, his lips on her neck surely leaving a mark as he soon followed her. They’d have to instill this quiet rule more often.

They came off their high together and settled back in the bed, grinning lazily and giggling. The Priest leaned over top of her, kissed her nose, and said very quietly, “I am so proud of you.”

 _Oop! This was it!_ she thought. His beautiful voice zinged around the room and filled it with music; she had really missed hearing it. “So wait, I win?” she whispered. He nodded slowly, gazing down at her lovingly. “Yay!” she said quietly, stretching her arms over her head. Come to think of it, she had missed the sound of her own voice, too.

“You really surprised me,” he remarked, laying on his side facing her. “I figured we wouldn’t have made it this far.”

“Yes, well, I’m full of surprises,” she replied, running a finger down his cheek. “And just so you know, I’m going to be collecting my reward immediately. Time for you to do what I want.”

“Just give me a little recovery time and I should be good to go soon.”

She shook her head on her pillow. “Nope, nothing to do with sex.”

“Really? I figured…”

She shook her head again, face growing serious. “Fair warning, though, you’re not going to like it.” 

The Priest looked a little nervous at this. 

_Here we go,_ she thought.


	2. Mouna, Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I thought whatever was done had to be consensual.” He said, voice muffled by the pillow.
> 
> “That was only if it was physical.”
> 
> “That was not explicitly stated!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is near impossible to find time to myself lately, so this is going up later than I intended.

“So, what, are you going to have me clean your flat?” He asked hopefully.

“Nope.”

“Clean your flat naked?” He ventured, starting to look uneasy.

“You’re free to do that anytime you want.” She said, patting his cheek. “No, I’m going to ask you five questions and you have to answer each one truthfully.”

“I can’t select a dare instead?” She shook her head.

“Ah, fuck, I completely regret this entire weekend!” He jokingly turned his head and buried his face into the pillow.

“Come back,” she said gently, placing her hand on the back of his head. She loved how a causal comment about how she liked his hair on the longish side led to him growing it out a little, just for her. “A deal’s a deal.”

“I thought whatever was done had to be consensual.” He said, voice muffled by the pillow.

“That was only if it was physical.”

“That was not explicitly stated!” He peeked one eye at her. “I figured your request was going to be purely sexual, honestly.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of surprised at myself, too,” she remarked. “All this quiet time really got me thinking. You have to admit it was pretty peaceful.”

“Are you joking?” He yelled playfully. “This was anything but peaceful, having to fend off your attempts at sabotage while trying to come up with some of my own!”

“Yeah, that was fun,” she laughed to herself. “Hey, where are you going?” The Priest had gotten out of bed and was getting partially dressed.

“Don’t worry, I’m just going to the loo before you begin your inquisition.” He rolled his eyes and headed for the doorway.

“You better come back!” She yelled after him. He hollered back something unintelligible. She grabbed a clean shirt out of a drawer and threw it over her head, sitting on the bed to wait.

The Priest returned, looking chagrined and ready for battle. “OK, let’s go,” he said resignedly, joining her on the bed.

“And you accuse me of not liking to answer questions. Just how many secrets are you hiding in there?” She joked, trying to lighten the mood. She had known he wasn’t going to be happy with her request, but he looked downright nauseous. He was running his tongue over his teeth, one of his nervous tics and a sure sign that he was feeling anxious. “Relax,” she soothed. “I’m not going to ask how many sexual partners you’ve had or anything.”

“I’m fine answering that. Can that be your first question?”

“No! OK, question one: Why won’t you talk to me about your past?”

“I just offered to tell you how many people I’ve fucked, that’s definitely from my past!”

“I get to ask the questions!” She fired back, feeling very much like a detective on TV. _Maybe this is a scenario we could add to our role-playing sometime_ , she thought. 

The Priest sighed. “I don’t like talking about it because…I just…it’s not very flattering or honorable. I worked really hard to put a lot of shit behind me and I don’t like dredging it up. I’m worried you’d look at me differently.”

“Why? You haven’t committed crimes or anything, have you?” She asked, only half-joking.

“No serious ones, but I have seen the inside of a jail cell once or twice.” He admitted sheepishly, looking to see her reaction.

“For what?”

“Stupid pub fights, public drunkenness, that sort of thing.”

“So basically a typical day in Ireland, then?”

“Ha, ha,” he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Was that a sufficient answer?”

“We’ll probably circle back to this one. Question two: When’s the last time you saw your family?”

“Oh, er…” He squinted in thought. “Wait, about a month after your dad’s wedding. An older cousin of mine had passed, so I went back for the funeral. I was still a wreck over how we ended so it wasn’t exactly a great visit.”

“That’s like a year and a half ago. Do you not go back often?”

“Not really. My family still gives me a lot of grief about being a priest. I think they think I’m judging them or something, so they act all indignant and defensive, then take the piss and ask if I’ve had enough of the church yet and am ready to be ‘normal’ again. My aunts love seeing me in my collar, though.” He got up from the bed and started pacing the room slowly.

“I do, too,” she smiled. He gave her a tight smile as he paced.

“My da’s always just waiting for me to admit becoming a priest was a mistake, and my mum cries and asks when I’m moving back home…it’s just less stressful to stay away.”

“Were they always like that when you were growing up?”

“Pretty much. They were always busy with work or busy drinking to forget work, so I was left to my own devices quite a bit. Now that my mum’s semi-retired, though, she’s trying to make up for lost time and wanting to spend more time with me, fussing over me and whatnot. It’s kind of like that song, the one about the father and son who never have time for another? The cat one?” He picked up his shirt from the floor and slipped it over his head, placing his hands on his hips and facing her.

This sent a pang of sadness straight to her heart. “I’d give anything to have my mum fussing over me one more time.”

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry!” He exclaimed, sitting on the bed and taking her hand. “I didn’t even think about that. I can’t imagine what that’s like for you.”

She looked down at the bed, remembering how her mum used to tease her and Claire about boys or school, trying to help them pick out outfits or giving them hairstyle suggestions, much to their annoyance. She smiled at the memory, missing her mum even more.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked gently, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close. She leaned into him, grateful for the comfort. “She always had this way of making us – hey! I know what you’re up to, stop trying to make this about me!”

“I’m just being supportive!” He joked, lifting his arms and rising off the bed again. “That was three questions, right?”

“Nice try, only two.” She narrowed her eyes before breaking out into a grin. “Ready for question three?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair before resuming his pacing. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really. Why did you become a priest?”

“And there it is. I’m surprised it wasn’t your first one.” He stopped at the window and gazed outside, his back to her. He folded his arms across his chest, silent for so long she wondered if he was going to answer at all. She was about to repeat the question when he finally started to speak. “I know you probably want to hear that it was one horrific, soul-searching, rock-bottom moment that made me see the light and turn to God. The truth is…” He trailed off, and she held her breath, waiting for him to continue. “The truth is…” he started again. “I just sort of…gave up on myself.” 

She stood and joined him at the window, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her cheek against his back. “So I told you how my parents were busy with work and drink, they were also busy dealing with my fuck-up of a brother. He was always getting into trouble for one thing or another, while I was the studious one. Pretty soon I started to have some fuck-ups, too, because hey, negative attention is better than none, right?” He laughed bitterly, the sound vibrating against her cheek. She squeezed her arms tighter around him, hoping he’d continue. “So I had to be bailed out a time or two, drifted through university in a haze, quickly learning you can do fuck-all with a Literature degree – another thing my da likes to remind me of every time I see him -- except maybe teach.”

“Were you a teacher?” She asked, picturing him in smart looking sweaters with a book in his hand.

“Nah, I wasn’t exactly keeping teacher hours in my daily life, if you know what I mean. I sort of drifted from one job to another, doing some freelance writing here and there, not really finding my lot in life and often waking up hungover and not entirely sure of my surroundings. Just…aimless, really.” He leaned his forehead against his arm on the window, placing the other over hers where they encircled his waist.

She hummed in agreement, remembering her feelings of helplessness before she and Boo decided to open the café. It had given her a purpose, something she had been searching for and then managed to utterly fuck up when Boo died.

“I was just so tired of dealing with relationship bullshit and having my heart broken, not finding my lot in life, not sure what to do or where to go. I couldn’t settle down or make any rational decisions, so I decided to find something that would make all the decisions for me. A couple of the nuns in the family dragged me back to church to try to sort me out, and I guess one thing led to another. It provided a structure and life to follow, so I could give up all my mistakes and start over. Plus it gave me an excuse to go back to school for philosophy and theology degrees.”

“Big reader, eh?” She supplied, hoping to make him smile. He finally turned away from the window and wrapped her in his arms. With her bare feet they were practically the same height, so they stood eye-to-eye. He considered her a moment before continuing.

“It told me what to wear, what to say, what to think, what to do…that’s why I lost all self-control that night in the confessional with you.” His eyes burned into hers, sending shivers all through her body. “When you were describing your uncertainty in your decisions, wanting someone to tell you how to live your life, I recognized that you were on the same journey that I had been on years earlier, looking for security and answers. I truly felt in that moment that we were two halves of the same person.”

“And we both remember how that particular night ended,” she joked weakly, recalling how their fiery passion quickly turned to unsatisfying frustration. She kissed him gently, hoping to convey the love she felt for him in the one simple gesture. 

“So there you have it,” he smiled sadly. “Kind of anti-climatic, huh?”

She shook her head, tucking his hair behind his ears and holding his face close. “Did you have to be so extreme, though? You were really ready to just give up on love?”

“I told you, I gave up on myself. By cutting out love and all the drama that comes with it, I finally found peace. It was such a relief to be free.”

“Until I showed up and fucked it all up for you.” They both smiled at this. 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Which leads to question four: Has there been anyone besides me since you joined the seminary?” She braced herself for the answer, reminding herself that no matter what he said, they were together now and that’s all that mattered.

“Absolutely not!” He answered quickly and resolutely. “No one was able to break through that wall except for you.”

“You didn’t have any temptation or anything? All that time?”

“Well, of course there was temptation, I am a man, after all!” He laughed, shaking his head. “I definitely had a few women catch my eye here and there, but just fleetingly, not anything I wanted to explore. It was just easier to excise all of that out of my life.” 

“So…..”

“…Why you?” She nodded her head. “Something about your no-fucks-given attitude, the way you squared yourself against your family the night we met…you were just so intriguing and I felt a little like my old self around you.”  
  


“The old self you gave up on and tried to escape? So are you suggesting I caused you to regress back to your old life?”

“No!” He gave her a look of consternation. “ I mean I felt like I could truly be myself around you and not have to play a role. When you asked if I was a real priest, I felt like you quickly saw through my façade and noticed me as a person. It amused me and freaked me out at the same time.”

“I’m good at that, aren’t I?” She agreed. He kissed her and nodded his head. “OK, last question…”

“I have definitely answered more than five!”

“Last question,” she repeated, ignoring the remark. “When did you carve the date in our tree?”

“Oh, that one’s easy!” He said, smiling with relief. “The very next day. Well, night, actually. I stopped there on my way back to your place and decided I wanted to mark the spot, so we could always remember. About slashed my hand a few times, trying to rush without getting caught. I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t add our initials, I felt that was a little too twee.”

“I love it,” she sighed, picturing him trying to be covert and whittling away before returning to her (and her bed). It was childishly romantic, and made her happy.

“So is that it? Are we done?” He asked. “Because I’m starving.”

“Yes, you have survived my interrogation and passed with flying colors. Thank you for being honest with me, I know that was hard.”

“All I know is next time I’m not handing over victory so easily!” He smiled, leading her downstairs. 

“Ha! Handed over! I was ready to wait you out as long as it took. Hey, what were you going to have me do?”

“Wait until next time and see,” he grinned, going to her pantry for tea.

“I feel like we learned a little bit about one another, don’t you?” She asked, getting mugs and putting the kettle on. “For example, I had no idea you were such a good drawer.”

“You just learned a fuck-ton about me with your grilling.”

“Well, yes, but I was a little taken aback that your parishioner knew about your vow of silence stuff and I didn’t. Do they all know you do this periodically?”

“I mean, I may have mentioned it in a class or service or something as a suggestion to step back and try to find peace to anyone who was stressed out. I once did it for 4 days when I was nine years old.”

“4 days?” She asked, astonished. “Did your parents think you’d gone mad?”

He shook his head. “They didn’t notice.”

She felt a rush of sadness for him, knowing her parents would have flipped if she had stopped speaking for 4 hours, much less 4 days. 

“I sometimes tell Pam I’m doing it for 24 or 48 hours just to get her to leave me alone,” he admitted with a sheepish grin.

“You lie to her? That’s hilarious!”

“It’s kind of mean, I know, but honestly sometimes I just want peace in my own home.” They settled at the kitchen table with tea and toast, eating in a companionable silence for a few moments. 

“I learned I really love the sound of your voice.” She said, taking a sip of tea. 

“Yeah?” He grinned, pleased. “This old thing?” He put on an exaggerated accent, making her laugh. “I thought for sure the run was going to get a few curse words out of you. I have to say, I especially loved last night’s attempt to get me to speak.” 

“Mmm, so did I,” she said, a flash of last night’s activities going through her mind. “It really made me realize how much we talk during sex.”

“Right?!”

“All the requests, dirty talk…”

“ _Love_ the dirty talk…” He closed his eyes in satisfaction.

“Me too. Although you have to admit, being quiet this morning was pretty hot.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Incredibly difficult, but really erotic.”

She hummed her agreement. “We’ll have to do that again sometime.” The look he was giving her indicated that ‘sometime’ could be right then, if she was interested. She stood up wordlessly and took his hand, leading him to the sitting room with a gleam in her eye and a finger to her lips. 

She could get used to their weekends alone together. Pity they’d only have all 3 days once a month. Still, she knew they’d find ways to keep themselves occupied, mouna or not.


	3. Sexhibition 2.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Godmother’s usual collection of bizarre playmates were milling about, downing free liquor and fawning over her. She took particular delight in introducing her “very holy, very progressive Priest and his unholy atheist of a ladyfriend” as she dragged him around to various circles of people.

It was a Saturday morning and the café had a decent sized crowd, mostly regulars but some new customers, also. She had left the Priest sleeping peacefully back at her flat, dropping a quick kiss on his forehead on her rush out the door. She figured he deserved a lie in after their workout the night before.

They had a pretty busy weekend planned, so it was going to be hard to find some more alone time. The C(K)laires were in town for Godmother’s god-awful Sexhibition 2.0, so they’d been out to dinner with them the night before. Thankfully Godmother and Dad had been too busy preparing for the exhibit, so everyone was able to relax and enjoy the evening instead of bracing themselves against unwanted advances and thinly veiled insults. Klare and the Priest had gotten along like long-lost BFFs ever since the day they met, and it was a boisterous night full of laughter and slightly too much alcohol. Between that and the minimal amount of sleep she had gotten, she was in a less than chipper mood.

She looked up as the bell rang above the door and recognized one of the church’s parishioners, a rather sour woman named Aurora who was always giving her the side eye. She sighed and put on her fake “Welcome” face, debating acting like she didn’t have a clue who she was just to irk her.

“Good morning, what can I get for you?” she said sweetly.

“Decaf tea with just a hint of cream, please.” She bit back a remark about decaf first thing in the morning, instead turning to get the drink started.

“I figured Father would be here with you.” Aurora sniffed, looking around the café.

“Ah, no, left him sleeping since last night ran a bit late,” she remarked, setting a cup on the counter.

“Best to enjoy that while you can, before the bubble bursts.” 

“I know, right?” she agreed. “Wait, what?”

“Once he’s gotten you out of his system and starts looking for someone a little more…like him? One day he’ll certainly want to settle down with a proper Catholic wife.” Aurora’s voice dripped with condescension as she tapped her lacquered nails on the counter. 

_Christ, she sounds just like Godmother,_ she thought to herself. Her back still turned, she swapped out the decaf teabag for the most caffeinated one she could grab. “I’m not really sure that’s part of his long-term plan.” She handed over the tea and rang up the order, eager to get the smug witch out of her café. 

“We’ll see,” Aurora smirked, turning to go. She met the Priest at the door, who was coming into the café as she was leaving. “Why, Father, we were just talking about you!” she said, running a hand along his arm. He smiled in greeting and made his way to the counter.

“Morning, love,” he said, leaning across the counter to give her a kiss. She kissed him back distractedly, still reeling from Aurora’s nervy comments. She was used to the whispers and dirty looks from some of the ruder parishioners, but this was the first time one of them was outright combative, and it threw her a little, honestly.

“Do you want a proper Catholic wife?” she asked, turning to him.

“Ah, no, but I would like one of those chocolate scones, if you have any left,” he said, peering into the display case. He glanced back at her when she didn’t move. “You alright?”

“Seriously, are you going to want to settle down someday with a Catholic woman?”

“What the fuck are you going on about? You know I don’t expect you to join the church, unless it’s something you want to do someday.”

“Never gonna happen.” She shuddered at the thought.

“Then why the question?”

“That woman, Aurora, just informed me that you’ll want to settle with a ‘proper Catholic wife’ once you’re done shagging me.”

“Oh, and suddenly she knows me better than you do?” he scoffed. “Besides, I’m not just shagging you. You know I’m in this for the long haul. And,” he lowered his voice, leaning across the counter to her, “if last night didn’t prove my utter devotion to you, I don’t know what will.”

“You _were_ quite attentive last night,” she smiled quietly, leaning on her forearms on the counter.

“Well, I missed you,” he said shyly, running his finger across the back of her hand. “It’s been a crazy busy week, and we won’t get a lot of alone time this weekend with all your family get-togethers.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” she rolled her eyes. Besides last night’s dinner with the C(K)laires, tonight they had to attend Godmother’s Sexhibition 2.0, being held, oddly, at Claire’s office building. Claire obviously had no say in the matter, and became apoplectic when she heard the news. It was going to be spectacular if only to witness Claire’s discomfort.

“You know you are not a placeholder while I search for some boring wife, like a holy version of ‘The Bachelor’. You mean everything to me.”

“Good answer,” she smiled, leaning in for a kiss.

“Ugh, take it outside, this is a place of business!” Malcolm, one of her employees, huffed while preparing a tray of drinks.

“ _My_ place of business,” she corrected. “And fuck off, Mal, you know you like to watch.”

“That I do,” he agreed, checking out the Priest’s arse on his way to the outdoor tables.

She laughed and turned to get the scone. “So are you going to stay awhile? I’m open until 3:00 today.”

“I have to make an appearance at the school’s youth football match in a little bit.” he said, grabbing a water bottle out of the cooler.

“What? I thought we were banned from those!” she exclaimed, plating the scone and placing it on the counter in front of him.

“No, you and your trashy trash mouth were banned. I’ve just been given a warning.”

“That is utter bollocks! You cursed on those sidelines just as much as I did!”

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t look good if they banned the parish priest from the matches.” He shook his head at her as if she were daft. 

“Blasphemous priest, indeed,” she muttered. “Ah, look who made it in!” Claire and Klare entered and joined them at the counter, exchanging hellos and ordering drinks before Klare and the Priest went outside to grab a table.

“Business is looking good,” Claire remarked, looking around the café.

“Can’t complain,” she remarked. “Although there are some customers I could do without. Some cunty parishioner was just in, sniffing that my Priest is just shagging me before he finds someone more suitable.”

“Who?”

“Aurora Evans.”

“Oh, she _is_ cunty, keep an eye on her. What’s your priest say?” 

“That she’s full of shit.”

“He’s right. Any fool can clearly see that he’s crazy about you.” Claire glanced outside to where the men were sitting and talking animatedly.

“Crazy for being with me, more like,” she said self-deprecatingly.

Claire turned to face her. “No, it’s obvious he’s smitten by the way he looks at you. It was apparent even before you consummated your relationship.”

“’Consummated our relationship’?” she laughed. “Jesus, Claire, it’s not 1950!”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” Claire said dismissively. They both returned their attention to their men outside, who had now been joined by Joe.

“When’s the last time we were both happy in relationships at the same time?” she asked Claire, putting her chin in her hand.

Claire thought a moment before answering quietly, “Never. I was with Martin much too long, and you were never with anyone long, period, save for Harry.”

She sighed. “It almost feels too perfect. I just keep waiting for something to go wrong, and having that cow voice one of my insecurities hasn’t helped.”

Claire patted her arm. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t fuck it up.”

Both men had reentered the café and made their way over to the counter. “Claire, my love, I am going to youth football match with my favorite priest. You don’t mind, no?” Klare asked, setting his empty cup on the counter.

“No, go right ahead. I’ll be fine.” The four of them settled on a time to meet up later on that night, planning to arrive at the Sexhibition slightly late so they wouldn’t have to spend too much time there.

After closing the café for the day, she and Claire spent the rest of the afternoon catching up before going their separate ways to prepare for the evening. She was just finishing up her make-up when her buzzer rang.

“Well, hel- _lo_!” she breathed when she opened the door to her Priest. He was dressed in perfectly tailored dark grey trousers and a form-fitting burgundy button-down, several buttons undone, paired with a black jacket that still managed to show off his biceps. He looked entirely too hot to waste on a night at one of Godmother’s events.

“What, too much?” he looked himself over. “Should I lose the jacket?”

“You’ll definitely be losing it later tonight. You look delicious, get in here!” she pulled him up the step and gave him a lingering kiss, debating if they had time for a quickie before heading out.

“And you look exquisite,” he appraised, looking her up and down as his hands slid to her arse. “Is this new?” She had picked up a new dress earlier in the afternoon, something a little more form-fitting than she usually wore that hugged her body in all the right places. “Because I like it. We should get dressed up and go out more.”

“I just wish we were going to something better than this,” she groused. “You know, you don’t have to ring the buzzer, you could just use your key.” She searched for her phone before throwing it in her bag and slipping on her shoes.

“I know, I just feel a little weird just barging in. Ringing the bell makes it more of a date.”

“So old-fashioned,” she chuckled. “Let’s get this over with.” 

She had to admit, Godmother had certainly outdone herself with her updated art showing. The Priest and Klare greeted one another heartily, apparently forgetting that they’d just spent most of the day together. _He’s spent more time with my Priest this weekend than I have_ , she thought bitterly. The men had no idea where to look, since they were inundated with various sculptures of body parts and sexual positions everywhere they turned. Godmother even had the plaster cast of her vagina on display in a “Look and Touch” corner of the room (“I am _not_ falling for that again!” the Priest had exclaimed upon seeing it).

Godmother’s usual collection of bizarre playmates were milling about, downing free liquor and fawning over her. She took particular delight in introducing her “very holy, very progressive Priest and his unholy atheist of a ladyfriend” as she dragged him around to various circles of people. They were currently chatting with Harry and his very pregnant wife, who kept looking between her and the Priest with curiosity. 

“So when’s the due date?” she asked to make conversation, not really caring about the answer.

“A little over a month to go,” Harry said proudly, rubbing his wife’s belly as if she were a genie’s lamp. 

“I’m actually one of the displays here tonight. Your stepmother took plaster casts of my pregnancy as part of her “Life Begets Life” sculpture,” his wife added.

“Wow, lucky you,” she said with more than a hint of sarcasm.

“How about you, then? Any desires to hear the pitter patter of little feet anytime soon?” Harry asked as the Priest choked on his drink. 

“You alright?” she patted his back in amusement, biting back a laugh.

“Grand,” the Priest sputtered. “Not sure what came over me.”

“Ah, no, not feeling that particular pull just yet.” She answered for them. Just the thought made her break out in a light sweat as she had no idea what his thoughts on children were.

“I think…” the Priest began, looking like he was trying to sort something out. “I think…I’m going to get another drink. You want one?” he turned to her. 

“No, I’m good. They’re sure pouring heavy tonight, huh?”

The Priest nodded and scurried off to the bar. Her eyes glazed over as Harry and his wife gushed about the joys of parenthood and how thrilled they were to be expanding their family. She wondered if Godmother would ask to collect some of the amniotic fluid if the wife’s waters were to break right this instant and shuddered. 

Her attention wandered around the room as Harry droned on. She spotted Clive and Lilac, noting that they seemed to be there together, if his hand up her shirt were any indication. Klare and Claire were cornered by Godmother and Dad, Klare nodding enthusiastically and Claire looking like she was about to vomit.

She thought back to the last Sexhibition and was grateful that she was in a much better place this time around. The sting of Arsehole Guy rejecting her and the humiliation of her meltdown and its ramifications made her stomach turn. She scanned the crowd looking for her Priest, who had definitely been scared away by Harry’s baby question. She spotted him with a circle of Godmother’s weirdos, chatting away and throwing his head back in laughter. She felt a pang of jealousy that he could just integrate himself into a group of strangers and hold court like that, then felt a flood of warmth as she watched him. _He really is just so fucking hot_ , she thought, with his tousled hair and infectious laugh. She caught his eye across the room and gave him a “Come hither” look, smiling when he excused himself from the group and made his way over to her.

“You alright?” he asked, looking concerned.

“Yes, why?”

“You just looked a little pained.”

“I was trying to look seductive!”

“Oh!” he said, surprised. “Sorry, I was worried you were feeling ill or something.”

“I’m definitely feeling something,” she said as he wound an arm around her waist. “I’ve been enjoying how hot you look tonight and thinking about how much I really want to fuck you right now.”

“You want to be an exhibition at the Sexhibition?” he said, laughing a little at his joke.

“Ugh, you are such a nerd!” she rolled her eyes, running her hand up his back and resting it on his shoulder.

“You knew that coming into this relationship,” he smiled, taking a sip of his drink. “What’s gotten into you? All the displays got you hot and bothered?”

“Christ, no!” she made a face, eyeing the paintings of overlapping vaginas next to them with disdain. 

“Seeing Harry again stir up some old feelings?”

“Again, no, but seeing you standing next to him shows me how fucking lucky I am with the upgrade.”

“Oh, come on, that’s not nice,” he admonished, then added, “but thank you.”

“Let’s go upstairs and have sex in Claire’s office,” she leaned in and whispered.

“I doubt Claire would be happy about that.”

“Oh, she’d go mental, which makes it even more fun. Come on, there’s a nice comfy couch up there...” she said enticingly.

“You’re serious?” he looked at her curiously. She could see him wavering between desire and practicality, and it made her want him even more.

“Would it help if I told you I’m not wearing any knickers?” she whispered in his ear. She pulled back a little to gaze at him, biting her lip with anticipation.

His eyes burned with need. “Now you’re just playing dirty,” he murmured in a low voice. She tilted her head a little to the side, fixing him with a coy smile. “OK, now _that_ is a successful seductive look. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

They hurried to the door, hoping to avoid Godmother or Dad noticing as the Priest downed the rest of his drink and practically threw his glass on a passing tray. 

It was much quieter by the bank of elevators, and they looked to make sure the coast was clear before punching the “Up” button. The doors opened immediately and they dove inside.

She pressed the button for the correct floor, then instantly pounced on him, pinning him to the back wall of the elevator and kissing him feverishly. His hands were on her face while hers were untucking his shirt just as the elevator doors opened to Claire’s floor. She took both his hands and led him down the hall to Claire’s office, grinning over her shoulder at him when they reached the door. He crowded behind her as she pushed it open, kissing her neck and winding his hands around her waist.

They stopped short when they heard Klare call out cheerfully, “Hello!”

“What the fuck?” she laughed, barely making out the two forms on the couch. “Claire?”

“Get _out_!” Claire screeched, sending them into fits of laughter as they doubled back out the door and stumbled down the hallway. 

“Looks like we’re not the only ones,” the Priest remarked. “What now?”

“Hmmm, there’s a board room just down the hall,” she pointed a few doors down.

“You don’t suppose this place has cameras, do you?” he said, looking around uneasily. She could see he was starting to have second thoughts and she wanted to center his attention back on finding a dark corner to be naughty. “’Parish Priest Caught Rogering Beautiful Woman at Sexhibition’ wouldn’t exactly make for a flattering headline.”

“But getting caught’s half the fun,” she purred. “Really, though, I doubt it because Claire wouldn’t take any chances if there were. Hang on, I know just the place.” She led him to the executive loo, knowing it had a lock on the door. Plus, it was more of a lounge than a public loo, much nicer than most she had ever been in.

“See? Perfect.” She dimmed the lights as he locked the door and turned to face her, fixing her with a smoldering look that she felt all the way to her toes. She pulled him in for a kiss as he lifted her onto the counter and stood between her legs. Their kiss deepened as she worked at his belt, desperate to have him at last. He raised her skirt, quite pleased to find that she was indeed knickerless. Soon they moved together as one, panting and moaning. She used one hand to brace herself on the counter and wrapped the other one around his shoulders, holding him close so there was scarcely any space between them.

The door handle jiggled. “We’re coming in a minute!” she called out, causing them both to laugh.

“Oh, Christ,” they heard Claire exclaim on the other side of the door. 

“Ignore her…” she gasped in his ear. “Less than a minute…so close…”

“Oh God, you feel so perfect…so beautiful…” he groaned before kissing her hungrily. She wrapped her legs around his waist as she came, her moans sending him over the edge as well. She kept him locked to her, foreheads together as they caught their breath. Very slowly her lips found his for a gentle, lingering kiss.

“What’s that you’re humming?” he asked after a moment, brow furrowed and his eyes still closed. 

“What?” she asked, unaware she had been humming at all.

He hummed the tune back to her. “What is that? It’s familiar.” His eyes slowly opened and met hers, and she made a mental note to someday take a picture of his post-orgasm face. It was one of her favorite looks on him.

 _“Breathe out, so I can breathe you in,”_ she sang softly. “I didn’t even realize I was humming it. Must be my subconscious. No, stay.” She said, gripping him tighter when he started to pull away.

“Are you OK? You seem like you’ve needed a bit of reassurance today.”

“I’m just in a weird headspace tonight. Things were a little crazy at the last Sexhibition: I was here with a guy I was sort-of seeing, who ended up gleefully telling me that he was in love with someone else, and it’s also where Claire sided with Martin on the whole ‘who kissed who’ argument and stopped speaking to me for a year.”

“Well, I’m here right now, telling you that I’m in love with you with every beat of my weary heart.” 

“And every stroke of your beautiful cock,” she added naughtily.

“That too.” He kissed her one more time before pulling away so they could clean themselves up. “Anyway, fuck that guy,” he said, tucking in his shirt. “He had no idea how good he had it. His loss is my gain.”

“I guess I just wanted to exorcise some demons here tonight,” she hopped off the counter, straightening her dress and fixing her hair.

“And who better to do that with than a priest, right?” he grinned. 

“That bitch Aurora getting into my head this morning didn’t help.”

“That comment really bothered you, huh? I don’t know how else to tell you that you have absolutely nothing to worry about.” He pulled her in for a comforting hug, holding her tightly.

“I’m just not used to being the one who gets picked. Those women at your church are really judgmental and just think I’m wrong for you.” She sighed, leaning into him.

“Does what I think factor into this at all?” he asked, rubbing her back soothingly. “Because I think they’re jealous of you. You’re smart and beautiful, and they feel threatened by that.” She had to admire that he never badmouthed his parishioners, even if they deserved it. This was about the worst he would say. He pulled back to look at her. “I pick you, not any of them, not ever.”

She leaned in and kissed him, whispering, “Thank you.” 

“Do you suppose Claire is waiting on the other side of that door to lecture us?” he asked sheepishly, reaching for the door handle.

“We weren’t doing anything she wasn’t up here doing first!” Luckily, no one was waiting for them as they exited and took the elevator back downstairs. The doors opened at the ground floor, where they were met with a surprised Clive and Lilac.

“Oh!” Lilac exclaimed. “We were just…looking to explore a little.” 

“Executive loo, 12th floor, definitely worth checking out,” she whispered conspiratorially as they exited. “So much for his celibacy vow,” she remarked to the Priest with amusement. He nodded knowingly.

Claire appeared as they reached the doorway to the meeting hall. “I don’t appreciate you and Godmother turning my place of business into a sordid sex den!” she said sternly.

“Oh, please, you were up there doing the same thing! Don’t lecture us on propriety!” she retorted. “We’re taking one more lap and then getting the fuck out of here. You wanna escape with us?”

“We’re heading out soon, too, but will be heading back to the hotel, so we’ll say our good-byes tonight.” They were flying back to Finland the next day, but already had plans to come back in a month’s time.

They eventually made their way over to Godmother and Dad to say goodbye before leaving. “Oh, thank you so much for coming, darlings! I love that you come to my events!” Godmother said, sweeping them both in for a boozy hug. 

“Or come _at_ her events,” she whispered to him as they reached the exit.

They were fully ready to crash once back at her flat, but their goodnight kiss led to a shower and subsequently shower sex before they finally collapsed in bed, practically asleep as soon as the light was out.

It was still dark out when the Priest’s alarm went off and she had to give him back to the church. He hit the snooze button and rolled back towards her. “I don’t want you to go,” she mumbled sleepily, snuggling into him.

“I’m pretty sure the congregation would notice if I didn’t show up,” he whispered.

“We’ve barely seen each other this past week. I want to just lock ourselves in here and keep everyone away.” 

“What’s your schedule look like today?” he yawned, stretching his arms.

“Closing the café at 2:00, then nothing. You?”

“I’m done with everything around then, too. How about we meet up after that, just you and me?”

“Let’s meet right here, in my bed. I feel like I could sleep for a week.” She heaved a sigh and pulled the duvet around their shoulders.

“Me, too. These late nights are killing me. OK, it’s a date. But I really do have to go.” He kissed her lightly before getting out of bed to go to the loo.

“Don’t go falling in love with any of those Catholic cows this morning!” she called after him.

“Stoppit!” he called back.

She was half asleep when she heard the front door close, and dozed for a little longer before getting up and heading downstairs to start her day.

She had just grabbed the milk from the fridge when she noticed a new drawing secured on the front of it with a magnet. He’d sketched Christopher Robin, Pooh and Piglet, along with a quote:

_“If ever there is a tomorrow when we’re not together…there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we’re apart…I’ll always be with you.”_

He’d signed it with his name and a kiss. _What an absolute nerd_ , she thought, a blush creeping across her face and warming her heart as a smile spread across her face. 

_My nerd._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Fleabag was humming was "Everlong" by Foo Fighters, one of my absolute favorites.


	4. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Priest was against the back of the tub, arms draped around her. Her head lay back on his chest while she lazily ran her fingertips along his forearms. “Who’d have thought that after that disastrous first dinner we’d end up here?” she mused.
> 
> “You mean you didn’t envision yourself coupled with a blasphemous priest whose most fascinating quality is that his mother was originally a lesbian?” he trilled in a perfect imitation of Godmother. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters being uploaded - one sad (trigger warning: pregnancy loss) and one fluffy (Christmas!).

They were cuddled up together in the bath, relaxed and fully satisfied after a particularly intense round of make-up sex. She didn’t even remember what they had been fighting about or who had won, not that it really mattered anyway. It started with some petty comment that escalated into many petty comments and ended with them going at it furiously on the sitting room floor. They both had rug burns in unusual places, but she was willing to fight about just about anything if they decided to resolve things like that. Candlelight flickered softly on the walls and they kept refilling the tub with warm water to avoid getting out just yet.

The Priest was against the back of the tub, arms draped around her. Her head lay back on his chest while she lazily ran her fingertips along his forearms. “Who’d have thought that after that disastrous first dinner we’d end up here?” she mused.

“You mean you didn’t envision yourself coupled with a blasphemous priest whose most fascinating quality is that his mother was originally a lesbian?” he trilled in a perfect imitation of Godmother. 

“Ugh, she really was awful that night,” she grimaced. “There are plenty of other fascinating things about you, it’s typical that that’d be the one she’d zero in on.” She thought a moment, then asked, “So, she’s still with your dad, though, right? I mean, how does that work?”

“I think she kind of bounced between women and men, whoever struck her fancy,” he stated with a chuckle. 

“As you do,” she agreed, nodding her head.

“But then she met my da, ended up pregnant with my brother, and that was that. I suppose they should’ve split up years ago, but just never got around to it,” he said, twirling her hair in his fingers absentmindedly. “They’re both too good at law to know how to wipe the other out. Plus they have good old-fashioned Catholic guilt at getting divorced.” 

“A classic love story,” she remarked, though she felt a twinge of sadness for the Priest. She may be stuck with her awful Godmother now, but her parents had at least had a relatively happy marriage. She couldn’t imagine growing up in a home with a dynamic like that.

“A bit of a common occurrence in my family. Like father, like son, I suppose.”

“Your brother?” she inquired.

“Ah, no….me,” he said casually, still twiddling with her hair.

“I’m sorry, what?” she exclaimed. “You serious?”

“Yep. I very nearly ended up married, with a child.” She froze, fingers ceasing their exploration of his arms. This was big. All of a sudden dozens of questions fired around her brain, but she was too afraid to speak since he so rarely offered insight into his past. She didn’t want to scare him off the topic.

“You’re dying to ask, aren’t you?” he whispered in her ear.

“I mean….” She stood up and turned, reseating herself so she was facing him and splashing water over the side of the tub in the process.

“Now that was a view. Mind doing that again?” he remarked, an amused look on his face.

“When?” was all she managed to get out. “You never mentioned this to me all those nights we got plastered and compared relationship horror stories, or during that mouna weekend when I asked you all those questions!”

“To be fair, you asked why I never talk about my past, not to actually tell you something about it.” He smirked at the technicality. 

“Was it that girl from university, the one who used to pretend she was Princess Di every time you fucked?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

“The one who you accidently spilled a pint on and then fucked in the pub loo?”

“Who?”

“Oh, wait, that’s one of mine.” She frowned, remembering. 

He regarded her with a small smile. “I can tell you, but first you have to admit that I was right earlier tonight.”

“Yes, sure, whatever you said earlier was absolutely correct,” she said hurriedly. “But only tell if you want to.” 

“You told me about your friend Boo, and I know how painful that was for you, so I suppose I kind of owe you this story,” he said, kissing her hand. She settled on her knees in the tub, tense with anticipation. 

“So, is there a junior…you…out there somewhere?” she ventured.

“No,” he said quietly. He tightened his grip on her hand before taking a deep breath. _Oh, this was going to hurt,_ she thought.

“Her name was Cara, and we had grown up together, having an on and off relationship through our school years that carried on into our twenties. When it was good, it was so good, but when it wasn’t…” he sighed before continuing. “There was infidelity on both our parts, fights, make-ups, break-ups…”

“Well, you are quite skilled at amazing make-up sex, so I can understand the arguments,” she joked, then immediately regretted interrupting. “Sorry, carry on.”

“Anyways, during one of our on-again times, she fell pregnant. It was bound to happen sooner or later when you go at it like rabbits with little regard to contraceptives.”

“Did you panic?” She could just imagine him tearing at his hair and freaking out.

“No, quite the opposite, actually,” the Priest admitted. “All of a sudden, everything made sense. We had a child to force us to remain faithful to one another, which in hindsight is ridiculous. But it just meant that there was suddenly a plan for my life: get married, continue working a job I hated, and get started on a large family like a good Irish Catholic boy. It was a relief, really.” 

_I’ll go up to three_ , she remembered from the night he told her they would never have sex.

“So, we were thrilled. We made all sorts of plans, picked out names, vowed to drink less…” she couldn’t help snorting at this. “I know,” he laughed. “That obviously didn’t happen. But everything just sort of fell into place.”

He paused, flexing his fingers around her arms. She could sense that whatever was coming next was not going to be a happy ending and wove their fingers together, wanting to let him know she was there for him.

“Once we got through the first trimester, we told everyone. My parents were actually pleased that I was following family tradition, as it were. The nuns were a bit offended, saying we should have gotten married immediately. We didn’t care, though. We knew our baby was going to be raised in a house of love, no matter when its parents finally got married.” He paused again and took another deep breath. “So, to celebrate, a few of my friends decided to take me out for a getaway, a lads weekend. Cara knew I was under pressure at work, so she encouraged me to go along and assured me she would be fine. After all, we’d made it through the first trimester, so it was smooth sailing from then on. Or so we thought.”

She held her breath, sensing what was coming next. “I’ve always regretted going away that weekend. Cara…she ended up losing the baby while I was gone. I should have been there for her. I’ve never forgiven myself for that.”

“But, there was nothing you could have done. It’s not like you could have stopped it,” she said gently. She could see the pain in his eyes, and her heart was breaking for him.

“My drunken arse had lost my phone in a pub, so she had no way to get ahold of me. She started to bleed alone. She had to go to hospital for a scan alone. She had to listen to the doctor tell her…” he choked up, biting his lip and turning his head away from her to gain his composure before looking back. “She had to listen to the doctor tell her, ‘I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeat’ _alone_. She didn’t deserve that. No one does. I should have been there.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she took both his hands and held them close to her, tears in her eyes as well. “Did she…place blame, or say anything like that?” she whispered.

“No, but I blamed myself enough for the two of us. By the time I eventually stumbled home, it was over. Everything had been sorted and it was…gone.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, then down his face as if to wipe the memory away. “Needless to say, we were devastated. Something like that can bring a couple closer together, or drive them apart, and I’m sad to admit that we never could really get back on track. It was just too painful. Cara wanted to try to get pregnant again straightaway, but I was too terrified. She fell into a deep depression, and I, well, fell into a lot of bottles, big surprise, and together we fell apart. We just sort of…ended. He’d be about 13, now.”

“You knew it was a boy?” 

“No, we were going to wait to find out, but I just had a feeling, you know?” he gave a sad grin. 

“So, you rushed off to the priesthood, then?” she asked, since the timing seemed about right.

“No, you’d think that’d do it, but unfortunately I still had a few more steps to tumble down before finally hitting rock bottom. But that’s a story for another time.” He was quiet for a few moments. “So, since I couldn’t be a father to my own child, it seemed comforting to try to be a –”

“--father to many,” she whispered with him, remembering. “Are you still in touch at all?”

He rested his arms on her shoulders. “It’s funny, but she was one of the few people who didn’t think I’d gone mad for joining the seminary. She thought it’d help sort me out. She’s now married with three beautiful children, which makes me happy for her.”

_I’ll go up to three_. She felt a rush of love for her Priest, and felt sadness for Cara and their loss.

“That night we met…”

“Oh, God, there I was, supposedly having a miscarriage practically in your face,” she groaned, ashamed. 

“You didn’t know, and obviously it wasn’t something I was going to toss into the conversation. In fact, I’ve never really told anyone this. But the way your family reacted, with Martin saying those horrifically cruel things – it took all I had not to leap over the table after him. And then they left! They fucking _left_ you, knowing you were having a miscarriage, even your sister, which now I know why since it was her miscarriage after all. But I just couldn’t bear to leave you to go through something like that alone, so that’s why I stuck around.”

“That was sweet of you, since I was a perfect stranger, a seemingly unhinged one at that.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him gently. He pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her tightly, resting his chin on her head.

“That’s why I was so pleased to see you at the church that morning. I thought I’d get the chance to help you through your pain, if you wanted, especially since you said the father didn’t exist. I wasn’t there for Cara, but I could be there for you.”

“And yet you weren’t angry when I admitted I lied. Why?” 

“I guess I just could understand why Claire would want to protect herself, seeing what your family was like. What you did was very noble.” Hs kissed her forehead.

She knew down the road that they’d need to have the “children or no children” talk and wondered what his feelings on the matter were. But now was not the time. She pulled back suddenly to look at him.

“You’ve never told me about this Cara, and here she’s played quite a pivotal role in your life!”

“Because it’s really painful! I wasn’t ready to talk about her or the baby during the mouna weekend. It took you a long time to tell me about Boo, remember?”

“That’s different,” she stated. “Anyway, let’s get out, the water’s getting cold.”

She had another revelation as they wrapped themselves in towels and moved to the bedroom. “Hang on, that means I’m not your first marriage proposal!”

“First of all, we agreed that wasn’t a real proposal,” he said, getting into his pajamas. “Second of all, the first one really wasn’t, either. It was Cara basically saying, ‘Oh, fuck, I’m up the duff, suppose we should just get married?’ and me saying, ‘Yeah, I guess.’ Not exactly romantic.”

“Just think, your life would be so different,” she mused. “You’d still be back in Ireland, not a priest, with who knows how many kids running around…”

He pulled her in for a tight hug and rested his chin on her shoulder. “She and I were not good for one another. We discovered years later that we make much better friends than we ever were as a couple. SO much fighting! But at least she never told me that my heavy breathing made me sound like a murderer in a horror film.”

She pulled back to look at him. “You really want to get that started again? ‘Cause I’ve got more rug burns in unpleasant places than I’ve ever had before.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed in agreement. “Next time we need to at least make it to a less abrasive surface.”

“What can I say, as soon as you gave me ‘the look’ I had to have you immediately, despite my predilection for, what did you call it, ‘creepy staring’?”

“Honestly, it’s unsettling sometimes. I worry that you’re going to follow me into the loo one of these days just to watch.”

“You’re just so nice to look at,” she pointed out. “Besides, you do it too, you know!”

“I –“ he raised his voice to protest, but she shushed him with a finger to his lips. “Over, done, we settled it with frenzied fucking and that’s that. Let’s go downstairs and get a drink. I think we could use one after the night we’ve had.”

“Or several drinks. I wasn’t planning on opening my painful vault of secrets tonight.”

“I’m glad you did. Thank you for opening up to me. And I’m sorry for most of the things I said earlier.” She pecked him on the cheek sweetly.

“Well, I actually meant at least one of them,” he teased as they headed downstairs. “But I’ll never tell which. I’m done spilling secrets tonight.”


	5. O Holy Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you want me to wave wildly when I get there, like a proud mum at your football match? Or would that embarrass you in front of all the women who want to kiss your mistletoe?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little Christmas fluff!

“What have you done?” she wailed, anguish in her voice.

“You are completely overreacting,” he said calmly as if he were talking her off a ledge, hands raised in a placating manner.

“I’ve done something to anger you or your God, is it? And this is my punishment?” she shook her head in disgust as he heaved a sigh.

“Fuck’s sake, it’s just a haircut,” he said, exasperated. “It’ll grow back!”

“Why in the world would you do this without warning me first? Why get it cut when you know how much I love it longer?”

“Because I don’t want to conduct Christmas mass looking like Willy Wonka’s mad uncle,” he sputtered.  
“Besides, Mrs. Humphries told me she liked it during my homebound visit with her this morning.”

“She obviously doesn’t enjoy winding her fingers through it while you’re going down on her,” she said as she rolled her eyes.

“Not today, anyway,” he smirked. “Does it really look that bad?” He raised a hand to his head self-consciously.

“No, you look amazing,” she sighed resignedly. “It’s just that the short hair combined with a clean-shaven face makes you look like you’re about 14 years old.”

“Er, thanks? I guess?” he shook his head. “Do you want me to go? Give you some time alone to come to terms with it?”

“No,” she pouted. “You just got here and I’ve barely seen you with all the Christmas prep at the church lately. You promised to hate-watch some Christmas films with me, remember?”

“You were serious about that? Those films are so bloody saccharine, with some hardened businesswoman returning to her hometown and falling for the haughty local handyman or something like that.”

“That’s why we’ll turn it into a drinking game. Someone says ‘You haven’t been home in years’, take a drink; they end up kissing in an elevator, take a drink…We’ll be hammered within 15 minutes. It’ll be fun! Anyways, I figured saccharine was right up your alley, what with all the Winnie the Pooh quotes and all. Or is it you’re one of those ’Put the Christ in Christmas’ people?”

“They’re just treacly as fuck and follow the same formula. I’ll watch, but I’m going to skip the drinking tonight.”

“Are you alright?” she asked, slightly alarmed and feeling his forehead.

“Fine, I just still have so much to do tomorrow and don’t want to face all my responsibilities with a hangover and Pam’s disapproving glares.”

“Understood. I’m going to pour myself a few drinks anyway. How about we start with _Love Actually_?”

“That movie’s like 3 hours long and the ending always gets me choked up.”

“Aww. We’ll work our way up to that one, then.”

After a quick dinner they settled on her couch, flipping the channels until they found a suitable film. Sure enough, 15 minutes in she had already finished her first drink and was moving on to the second.

  
“I’m coming to midnight mass tomorrow,” she hiccupped, picking up her glass unsteadily.

“Oh, yeah?” he said, pleased. “She just rolled her eyes and said she hates him, take a drink.”

“I wanna come see you do your thing. I bet the church looks beautiful with all the flowers and decorations.” She set her glass back down. “The whole family’s coming, actually. Claire and Klare wanted to come, and then Godmother got wind of it…” she rolled her eyes and took another drink as the two main characters in the film decorated a Christmas tree together while exchanging glares.

“You know Martin will be there, right? The youthy band are playing a few songs and Jake is still a part of it. Please don’t have any family throw-downs in the middle of mass, I’d never hear the end of it.”

“We’ll just have to keep them apart,” she said. “He’s still such a wanker and if he so much as looks in Claire’s direction…”

“Best friend asking if she’s in love with the haughty solicitor,” he pointed out. “Drink.”

“Fucking hell, I’m going to be passed out before this ends.”

He laughed and pulled her in for a cuddle. “Since you’re coming to mass, do you want to stay at the rectory with me tomorrow night?”

“Really? What about Pam?”

“She’s staying with her family during the holidays, so I have the place all to myself. It’d be nice to wake up with you on Christmas morning instead of waking up alone like I do every year.”

“I’d love to,” she said, planting a sloppy kiss near the vicinity of his mouth. She’d stayed there a handful of times, but only when Pam wasn’t in town. It was cozier than she thought it’d be and she loved being in his space.

“I’ll probably be too knackered to rock your world, though. Tomorrow’s schedule is packed and I still have to do communion Christmas morning, as well as the breakfast for those who are alone on Christmas.”

“You are just too good and pure for me,” she snuggled into his chest. “You’re still coming to Christmas dinner at my Dad’s, though, right?”

“I have a shift at the shelter first, but yes, I’ll be there for moral support.” He kissed the top of her head. “You should come with me to the shelter. It’s very fulfilling.”

“Seems like it’d be sad, though,” she said. “All those people down on their luck, feeling lonely…”

“At least this way they have someplace to go and people who care about them. Think about it, at least.”

“Thinking about when these characters are finally gonna realize their true feelings and fuck,” she said, taking another drink when the haughty solicitor introduced the businesswoman to his young child.

“The best you’re going to get in one of these shit films is a chaste kiss under the mistletoe at the end.”

“Then how ‘bout we realize our true feelings and fuck?’ she flirted, turning over and straddling him unsteadily.

“That’s more like it.” He grinned, pulling her in for a kiss.

“Make sure you arrive early tomorrow night. It starts at 11:00,” he whispered later in her bed. “Everyone shows up for midnight mass and it ends up being standing room only.”

“Do you want me to wave wildly when I get there, like a proud mum at your football match?” she giggled, still a little tipsy from her solo drinking game. “Or would that embarrass you in front of all the women who want to kiss your mistletoe?”

“That’s OK, I’ll keep an eye out for you. I’m sure some of them will be surprised to see you there.”

“Fucking jealous…churchy women… _my_ priest,” she mumbled, fumbling for his hand under the duvet.

“How about I give you a signal in the middle of mass? A way to let you know I’m thinking of you?”

“Will you remember between all your prayers and songs and such?”

“Of course. You are always on my mind, no matter what I’m doing.” He kissed her hand and looked thoughtful. “I’ll do this,” he demonstrated, placing a hand over his heart. “When I do this during mass, this is me, telling you I love you in front of the whole congregation.”

“A secret signal telling me you love me," she snorted. "Maybe we belong in one of those cutesy Christmas films.”

The Priest was right, the church was packed with parishioners by 10:30 and they were lucky enough to get seats in the middle of the church. She’d exchanged a warning look with Martin when she caught him glaring in their direction, but luckily Claire and Klare hadn’t noticed. Jake, on the other hand, had made a beeline for Claire and wrapped her in a hug that was borderline inappropriate. She’d had to help pry him off of her and direct him back to the youthy band, with some assistance from the Priest. “Good luck!” she called after him as he’d hurried off distractedly to complete some final preparations before getting everything started. The midnight mass was being conducted by candlelight, with the overhead lights dimmed, making for a festive and almost dreamlike atmosphere.

_“Fall on your knees; O hear the Angel voices!_  
_O night divine, O night when Christ was born”_

The youth choir sounded amazing, as usual. She got a fit of the giggles as they sang, remembering the episode of _Frasier_ where his father anguished about not being able to hit the high note in “O Holy Night”. She glanced over at Claire to whisper about it when she noticed that Claire’s eyes were shining.

“You OK?” she leaned over and whispered. Claire stared at her a moment, absolutely glowing.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered, a smile breaking on her face.

“Oh, my God!” she exclaimed loudly, causing the man in front of her to turn around. “Just feeling the spirit,” she explained, as he nodded and turned back around. “Claire! That’s amazing! When?”

“The weekend of that bloody Sexhibition.” Claire shuddered.

“You’ll have to name it after Godmother, then, or the Priest or me since we were there.” She took Claire’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Does Dad know?”

“No, we’re planning on telling them tomorrow. I wanted you to know first.” They shared a smile, and between Claire’s news and the choir’s signing, her eyes filled with tears of happiness as well. She turned her attention back to her Priest, who looked resplendent in his robe as he gazed up at the ceiling. He turned and found her in the crowd, placing his hand over his heart: _I love you_.

“Is your Priest alright?” Claire whispered, concerned. “He keeps clutching at his chest as if he’s having a heart attack.”

“That’s his secret signal telling me he loves me,” she admitted with a shy smile.

“That is nauseatingly sweet,” Claire said, rolling her eyes a little. “Good for you.” She added, giving her hand a squeeze.

After mass, she said her goodbyes to her family with plans set for Christmas dinner the next night. She waited for her Priest in the back room while he said goodbye to his parishioners and tied up some loose ends for the next day with Pam and a few of the volunteers. He finally made it to the back room right before 1:00, looking like he could sleep standing up.

“Let me get changed and then let’s head over,” he yawned. “What a day!”

“It was really beautiful.” She said genuinely. “You looked right in your element.”

“I love midnight mass, but it just takes so much to get to this point in the Advent season,” he said wearily as he hung his robe back up. “I feel like I could sleep like the dead.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I have some news: Claire’s pregnant!”

“Wow, good for her!” he enthused.

“Apparently it happened at the Sexhibition, which I will never let her forget. She’s telling my dad tomorrow, so act surprised.”

“Er, did I look surprised just then? Because Klare told me before mass tonight.”

“He did?” she asked, astonished and having mixed feelings that he knew before her.

“Yeah, it just kind of burst out of him even before he said ‘hello’. He’s absolutely over the moon.”

“Are you OK about it? I mean, after what you told me about your…”

“Of course! I’m thrilled for them. I told Klare that I’d include them and the baby in my evening prayers. Let’s hope there’s a better outcome this time.” He took her hand and led her to the rectory, where they had a nightcap and immediately got dressed for bed.

“So, it’s technically Christmas,” she pointed out. “Do you want your present now, or tomorrow morning?”

A slow grin spread on his face. “Up to you.”

“Now!” she exclaimed, running to her bag to get his gift and settling on his bed. “Here, you open first.”

“If you insist,” he said, joining her on the bed. He opened it carefully to discover a leatherbound journal with his initials on the cover, along with a fox. “A fox!” he laughed. “How thoughtful!”

“It’s time to conquer that fear!” she gave him a little shove. “It’s for your restaurant reviews, since you archaically insist on writing them by hand.”

“I love the feel of pen on paper, and I hate typing on my phone. It’s so impersonal.” He pointed out.

“You could use it for sketching, too, if you want. You could draw me like one of your French girls.”

“Sure thing, Rose. Been watching _Titanic_ , have we?”

“I promised myself I’d just watch ‘til the next commercial and then got sucked in.”

“That’s always the way.” He held up the journal and smiled at her. “Thank you. I love this, fox and all.”

“Good.” She leaned in and gave him a kiss. “My turn!”

“I wasn’t sure what to get you,” he said shyly, going to his dresser and returning with a small box. “It’s probably…I don’t know…”

“As long as it’s not an engagement ring,” she joked.

“Well, fuck…” he stopped short.

“Oh, God! Really?” she exclaimed, slightly horrified.

“No, just joking,” he grinned. “Here.” He handed the box to her and settled back on the bed, fiddling with the duvet nervously.

“Gave me a scare there,” she laughed, tearing the paper off and opening the box to reveal a wishbone necklace, similar to the one she usually wore.

“I, um, noticed you’re always wearing a wishbone, you know, good luck and all,” he stammered. “This is kind of a variation, with our birthstones on either end of it and the color they’d combine into in the middle.” She stared at it silently, lifting it out of the box delicately and holding it up. “You know what, it’s probably too twee, I’ll just…I can…” He moved to take it back from her.

“I love it,” she whispered, eyes filling with tears.

“Really?” he exhaled in relief. “I was worried you’d be disappointed since you already have a wishbone and now I’ve made it kind of sappy…”

She shook her head quickly. “It’s perfect. Help me put it on.” Once it was in place, she looked down and touched it tenderly. “I want you to draw me wearing this…only this.”

“Bloody _Titanic_ ,” he muttered, shaking his head and smiling before pulling her in for a kiss.

“Shall we make a wish on it?”

“My wish already came true,” he said affectionately, stroking her cheek.

“OK, now _that_ was sappy,” she teased, circling her arms around his neck and kissing him again.

“I know!” he cringed. “It sounded so much better in my head. You know what I mean, though.”

Not long after they were finally settled in bed, practically nose to nose since his bed was narrower than hers. It was actually quite cozy and intimate, and she felt secure and loved in his embrace.

“So fucking exhausted,” he mumbled sleepily as she stroked the back of his head like a cat. She had soon discovered how soft the hair above his neck was now that it was shorn off and she couldn’t get enough of it. “Mmm, that feels nice.”

“I could make do with this,” she murmured, gently weaving her fingers through what was left of his hair.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven for cutting it without your consent?”

“We’re not there yet.”

His lips brushed hers gently before he started to drift off to sleep. “Happy Christmas, love.”

“Happy Christmas, Father,” she whispered, before sleep claimed them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's a bit of a stretch to put this in Weekends since Christmas Eve is on a Thursday this year, but it crosses over into Friday so I suppose that counts, right?


	6. Harry & Eleanor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Nope, you definitely have more in common with Prince Harry. You’re both trying to live your lives as regular blokes while under the oppression of an archaic and dysfunctional entity.”
> 
> “Wow,” he looked at her in disbelief. “Tell me what you’re really thinking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Inauguration Day, y'all!

They were sitting in her café late on a rainy Saturday afternoon, empty but for the two of them. Technically she was still open for another hour, but the rain had kept customers away so she was working on balancing up the till. She couldn’t help but notice that they never sat at the table where they had had their first fight ages ago. It was an unspoken rule between them that it was to be avoided.

Her priest was dressed casually in jeans and a light gray sweatshirt, reading a copy of _Cosmopolitan_ that had been left behind by a customer earlier that afternoon. He was absentmindedly running his hand across the several days’ worth of scruff on his face, and she was getting increasingly distracted by the movement. He finally rested his chin in his hand, slowly running his pinky finger across his lips when she decided she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Would you please stop doing that?”

“Hmm?” he murmured, still absorbed in his reading.

“I need you to please stop doing that.” She repeated.

“Doing what?” he asked, finally looking up at her.

She gestured all around his face. “All….that.”

“What, existing?” 

“No! You’re running your hand all over your face and it’s distracting me.”

“Oh, I see, another one of my annoying habits that irritates you?” 

“No, it’s fucking hot and turning me on,” she replied, cheeks flushing slightly.

“Really?” he gave her a puzzled look. “Why?”

“I don’t know, it just does!” she exploded. “Take the compliment!”

“You’re weird,” he said, shaking his head and giving a short laugh.

“ _You’re_ weird, face fondler,” she muttered, going back to the task in front of her. “I want to get this finished so we can get out of here.”

“OK, but fair warning: I’m going to walk over to the counter, so try not to have an orgasm over the utter mundaneness of it.” He chuckled as he headed over to the display case.

“Just for that I’m pretending you’re Prince Harry the next time we have sex,” she glowered, tapping her pen on the table.

“Really?” he tipped his chin towards the ceiling, offering up his profile. “I’d say I’m more of a Prince William, actually.”

“Nope, you definitely have more in common with Prince Harry. You’re both trying to live your lives as regular blokes while under the oppression of an archaic and dysfunctional entity.”

“Wow,” he looked at her in disbelief. “Tell me what you’re really thinking.” He reached into the display case and took out a chocolate croissant.

“I’m thinking I’ll soon be run out of business if you keep plowing through my croissants like that.”

He held the croissant in his mouth while making a production of withdrawing a note from his wallet and dropping it in the tip jar, eyes wide in annoyance. “Better?” he asked, taking a bite and heading back to the table.

“So, do you think you’re going to be priesting forever? Or do you feel like God might lead you to something else down the road?”

“Hmm, a year or two ago I could have unequivocally answered yes to that question, but I’ve quickly learned that sometimes life doesn’t quite end up how I thought it would. For instance, I never thought I’d be in a romantic relationship ever again, yet here we are.” He pulled a flake off of the croissant and popped it into his mouth. “Who knows, though, maybe next month I’ll chuck it all away and become a Peloton instructor instead.” 

“At the rate you’re going with these you might need to make that career change sooner rather than later,” she commented, grabbing his wrist and taking a bite of the croissant.

“I can’t help it, I just love a good _pain au chocolat_.” 

“Ooh, say that again,” she grinned, closing her eyes dreamily and sighing.

“ _Pain au chocolat_ ,” he whispered, drawing out each word. “Wow, you’re easy to turn on.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” she remarked. “Really, though, what’s your 5-year plan?”

“My what? Why? Is this some sort of interview or something?”

“Dunno, just been thinking.” She put her chin in her hand, thoughtful. “When Boo was here, the café duties were split, but here and there it just gets to be a bit much by myself. Malcolm and Alexis are great helpers, but sometimes I think it might be easier to have a business partner again.” She smiled sadly at him. “Want to go into business with me?”

He snorted. “Trust me, that is _not_ a good idea.”

“Why?”

He heaved a sigh, tearing the croissant in half to share with her. “I had some experience managing my uncle’s pub, and let’s just say it didn’t end well.”

“Managing or bartending?” she asked. “I could just picture you flashing that winning smile to drive up the tip jar.”

“Oh, I was a hell of a bartender, but an absolute crap manager. You’d be out of business within a month.”

“I doubt that.” 

“What about your 5-year plan, then? Do you still want to be running Hilary’s or expanding into something else?” 

“I don’t really know,” she admitted. “My Bank Manager recently offered to buy in as a partner, and I’ve been considering it. I’m trying to figure out if he’s serious, though, or just having a mid-life crisis. What do you think I should do?”

“I can’t tell you that. It’s your business and your decision.”

“But, can’t you just tell me what to do, not as a priest but as a person?” she smiled wistfully, wanting to know his opinion on the matter. She had been struggling with all of her responsibilities for awhile, but the thought of sharing her business with someone other than Boo felt like a betrayal of sorts. “I guess I’d just like some security and a little less responsibility down the road, in case there’s…” She trailed off, unsure if she should finish her thought.

“In case there’s what?” he asked, taking another bite.

“In case there’s…”

“What? Tell me!”

She hesitated. “In case there’s more…of us…someday.” Her heart beat against her chest now that the words were out. She remembered how the Priest had reacted when Harry had asked them if they planned to have children and hadn’t really broached the subject with him since. The closest they’d got to the subject was when he told her about the baby he and a former girlfriend had lost, not exactly the best time to ask if children were in their future.

“Is…are you…” the Priest stammered, going slightly pale. “Is there something you’re trying to tell me?”

“No! No, I’m not, don’t worry,” she reassured him, realizing he had misunderstood.

“Oh, thank God!” he exclaimed, exhaling a nervous laugh. “Had me going there for a minute.”

“Forget God, thank modern birth control,” she pointed out. “I’ve just been mulling over his offer and thinking about the future, that’s all.”

“I hope I’m a part of your 5-year plan, whether it’s holding you as you fall asleep every night or you yelling at me on the street that I’m the arsehole who’s ruined your life.” He took her hand and wove their fingers together.

“Me, too,” she smiled. She held up their hands and studied his wrist. “What’s this?” she asked, fingering the bracelet he was wearing. 

“Oh,” he said, turning his wrist over and studying it. “From one of our younger parishioners. She’s in hospital and I’ve been by a few times, offering some support to her and her parents. Last trip she made me a friendship bracelet and insisted I put it on immediately.”

“Aw, that’s sweet. Why’s she in hospital?”

“Leukemia. Only 8 years old, but honestly one of the bravest people I’ve ever met. Sweet little one. She’s coping much better than her poor parents are.” 

“Doesn’t stuff like that just depress you, though? All the sadness you encounter with your parishioners?”

“Well, yeah, it does get to me. Sometimes it’s hard to keep it together when they’re suffering, but I have to remain stoic and supportive for them. It wouldn’t look good if I came in to do last rites or conducted a funeral in floods of tears.”

“Wouldn’t have that problem if you ran a café with me, just saying…”

“Not gonna happen. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my article here, even though it’s infuriating me. Alcohol-free gin? That’s like sex without orgasm, no bloody point.”

“I’ll say!” she agreed. “Let me get this damn thing balanced and then let’s get out of here. Think about what you want to do tonight.”

A short time later they were finally out on the sidewalk. The rain had slowed to a mist, so they decided to walk while they thought about what to do with their evening.

“Catch a film?” he suggested.

“Nah, last time we did that we didn’t get past the previews without making out like sex-starved teenagers. We can do that at my flat for free.”

“Good point. Art exhibit?”

“Ick, no,” she grimaced. “Grab dinner and then figure something out?”

“Sounds good. Lead the way.”

Getting pissed and watching telly ended up winning in the end. She put on _Derry Girls_ with the hopes that it would remind him of his adolescence in Ireland and get him to open up more to her about it. They had been drinking pretty steadily, though, and were _thisclose_ to dangerous territory: there seemed to be a certain tipping point for the Priest where he crossed over from ‘fun and playful’ into ‘morose and mournful’ or, even worse, ‘passed out before they could have sex’. She was watching him carefully to see where he was on the drunkenness spectrum to make sure he didn’t get too far gone.

They were on the episode where the girls were swooning over Father Peter, so she figured he’d get a kick out of that. However, when she glanced over at him she could see that his jaw was set and his face was stony. “This is utter bollocks,” he huffed, shaking his head at the television.

“How do you mean?” she asked, pausing the show and turning to face him. “They’re crushing on a hot priest, something I can totally relate to. It’s cute!”

“What?” he gave her a perplexed look and pointed at the TV. “Watching a man of God have a crisis of faith is cute? Do you even remember what it was like for me, the hell I went through, when we were together the first time?” He raised his voice, slurring his words slightly. “And they’re playing it off like it’s a laugh, ‘Ooh, should he run off with the woman he loves’ ha ha ha? Fucking bullshit.”

 _Yep, definitely time to cut him off_ , she thought, placing the whiskey bottle on the end table and climbing into his lap. “Well, it _is_ a comedy,” she pointed out, straddling him in an effort to talk him down and also to block the TV from his view. “It’s just a humorous counterpoint to the stereotypical fusty old priests, having the girls drool over a hot young one. Like I said, I can relate.” She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a quick kiss.

He breathed out a sigh and laid his head against the back of the couch. “Still not funny,” he pouted, closing his eyes. “It’s turmoil, self-doubt, self-loathing…fucking…um…” he trailed off, losing his train of thought. With his head tipped back, his throat was exposed to her and she took advantage, laying open-mouthed kisses to cheer him up (and keep him awake).

“I’m sorry,” she murmured against his throat. “You did have a rough go of it back then.”

“So fucking lonely…I told you that the night we met, remember? I told you? ‘I’m really fucking lonely!’ Remember? Told your whole family…” He was babbling sleepily now, so she needed to do something soon if she was going to get any action tonight.

“I was lonely, too, back then. I was practically Eleanor Rigby when we met,” she whispered, running one hand along his chest and another up his thigh to keep him engaged.

“Oh, my God,” he muttered. She smiled against his neck as her tactic seemed to be working. “Oh, my GOD!” His eyes flew open as he lifted his head off the couch and yelled in her face. He leaped up, apparently forgetting that she was currently in his lap, which resulted in her landing in a heap on the floor. He started pacing the room, shaking his head and waving his hands. “How did I not see it?” He covered his face with his hands. “There’s even a fucking priest!” His voice came out at least an octave higher and he sounded like he was either laughing or crying.

“What’s happening?” she asked uneasily from her spot on the floor. “Are you OK?”

“Eleanor Rigby!” he shouted, resuming his pacing and looking slightly unhinged. “That’s us! We’re fucking Eleanor Rigby and Father McKenzie! That song is us!” He jumped up on the couch and paced along its length, pointing down at her. “You’re Eleanor, you just said so, and the song has a priest and they’re both ridiculously lonely and they needed each other and it’s US!”

“Steady on!” she yelled from her spot on the floor. “If that couch breaks, I want it to be from some seriously hardcore sex, not you leaping about like a hyperactive leprechaun! And what the fuck are you talking about?”

He gazed down at her unsteadily and for a second she was worried he was going to topple off the couch onto her. “That song is about two lonely people who went about their mundane lives and never got the chance to connect.” He stepped off the couch and resumed his erratic pacing. “But we did. Instead of me presiding over your sad and solitary funeral that no one comes to-“

“Hey!” she interjected. “Someone would come.”

“- we changed it. Don’t you see? That’s so our song!”

“That so is _not_! The only couples that have ‘Eleanor Rigby’ as their song are the ones who also have a suicide pact.” She rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically.

“Yes, it is. We gave them a happy ending!”

“Come ‘ere and I’ll give _you_ a happy ending,” she cooed, flopping onto her back on the floor and stretching her arms over her head languidly. 

He gave her a lopsided grin and finally seemed to notice that she was sprawled on the carpet. He sank to the floor and crawled over to her, hovering over her on all fours like a drunken Labrador. “It. Is. Our. Song.” he smiled down at her. “Who sings it? Who sings our song?” 

“The bloody Beatles, everyone knows that.”

“And _which_ Beatle?” he said, unsuccessfully trying to hold back a laugh.

“Oh, Christ, not this again,” she rolled her eyes and sighed. “Paul fucking McCartney.”

“Paul fucking McCartney,” he nodded solemnly over her. “The greatest Beatle to ever live.” He leaned down and kissed her sloppily. “So fuck that show, fuck that priest, and fuck that fucking episode!”

“Once you’re done fucking all of them, how ‘bout fucking me?” she reached up and put her hands on his neck, trying to pull him down to her.

“If you insist,” he joked, using one hand to reach for his belt. “But fair warning, I think I’m sloshed.”

“Just a little,” she laughed. “Not here! Carpet’s too rough.” She finally pulled him down and they shared a laughingly drunken kiss, giggling against one another.

“Let me have a minute, rest my eyes…” he laid his head against her neck, face in her hair, and she could feel him getting heavier on her. “ ‘s nice,” he murmured.

“Nope!” she shook him a bit and smacked his arse. “Do not pass out on me. Up, now!”

He grunted and lifted off of her slowly, taking forever to get to his feet before swaying as he pulled her up to join him. She wrapped her arms around his waist as they made their way to the stairs. “Are you still gonna pretend I’m Prince Harry?” he asked jokingly.

“Now I might imagine you’re McCartney since you put him in my head. Late 70s or early 80s Paul, though, not ‘old enough to be my dad’ Paul.”

“As long as you’re not imagining I’m that hot priest from that shit show, which I liked until that episode, by the way.”

“No, my love, I don’t need to imagine you’re some other hot priest when you’re already _my_ hot priest.” He stopped and took her face in his hands, kissing her soundly and smiling at her with half-closed bedroom eyes that she hoped would stay open long enough to make her come. “Now take me upstairs and make me scream.”

“Be glad to, Eleanor.” 


	7. Communication (or Lack Thereof)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sometimes I think you care more about your parishioners than you do about me.” she pouted, hurt and jealousy etched on her face.
> 
> He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “That is not fair,” he said quietly with a calmness that surprised even him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying out a little bit of angst.

It was Friday night, and she’d had an awful day, the kind of day that made you question all of your life choices that had led you to this point in life. Her distributor had delivered the wrong goods for an upcoming catering gig, and she’d spent half the day on the phone repeatedly explaining the error to several clueless representatives who all passed her off to other clueless representatives, causing her to repeat her complaint until she was ready to spit fire. It had also seemed that her customers had conspired to make the theme of the day “Let’s complain about everything!” which had done nothing to improve her sour mood. She’d contemplated throwing the lot of them out and locking up several hours early, but that wouldn’t look good for business. 

The only thing getting her through it all was knowing she was getting three uninterrupted days with her love, and she tried to focus on that instead of plotting her next career move. However, he was over 2 hours late with nary a call or text as to his whereabouts, and she was well beyond being annoyed and quite far into being utterly pissed (both in mood and in drink).

When she went to refill her drink the second ( _or third?_ ) time, she dug out a pen and added a fox to their refrigerator drawing out of spite. _Take_ that _, you inconsiderate bastard_ , she thought darkly.

The buzzer finally went, but she refused to get up from the couch, shouting “Use your key!” and rolling her eyes. “The fuck you think I gave it to you for?” she muttered to herself.

She heard the door lock go and he appeared breathless and in his clerical collar. “So sorry, love...” he started, removing his jacket.

“Where the fuck have you been?” she demanded as a greeting.

He looked taken aback and gave her a look. “Mind trying that again? Because that was really rude.”

“OK: hello, my love,” she said with fake sincerity. “Pardon my anger, but where the fuck have you been?” She took a defiant swig of her drink and glared at him. “What’s really rude is waltzing in over 2 hours late with no explanation.”

“Yes, I was getting-“

“I mean, I’m just supposed to sit here waiting patiently like a good little lady while who knows what you’re up to?”

“Do you see what I’m wearing?” he asked, pointing to his collar. “Give you any clues as to ‘what I’ve been up to’? There was—“

“An explanation would be nice, to start.” she groused.

“And I’d be giving you one if I could get a fucking word in!” he yelled, exasperated. He tossed his jacket on the chair with such force it bounced off the back and landed in a heap on the floor. “One of the homebound parishioners had to be brought to hospital earlier this evening and her distraught daughter asked me to come by and pray with her.” He removed his collar and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt. “I was with them for hours and it wouldn’t have exactly been compassionate, not to mention professional, for me to whip out my phone to fire off a quick text. I’m sorry I didn’t call, but I rushed out as soon as I could and came straight here. And I do believe the first words out of my mouth upon arrival were ‘I’m sorry’.” He set to work on his sleeves next, unbuttoning and rolling them up his forearms, getting agitated when he struggled with one of the buttons.

She refused to be distracted by what she always jokingly thought of as his “de-priesting” wardrobe change and gave him a long look before eventually breathing out a sigh. “Sometimes I think you care more about your parishioners than you do about me.” she pouted, hurt and jealousy etched on her face.

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “That is _not_ fair,” he said quietly with a calmness that surprised even him. “You know I can’t always drop everything and do as I please. Would you rather I have told them, ‘Oh, sorry, Ms. Jones, but I’m sure your mother’s heart attack isn’t that serious and would you kindly fuck off, I have plans tonight’?”

“Why couldn’t your deacon have handled it?”

“Because they requested me.” He rubbed his hand across his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. “Sometimes things come up and I have to put my plans on hold. That’s part of being a priest and being there for others in their time of need.”

“What about my time of need? I’ve had an utter shit day and all I wanted was to just curl up with you and forget all about it. Instead you stood me up-“

“I’m fucking here now!” he yelled.

“-and now I’m not sure what I want to do.”

“Do you want me to go, then?” he asked, hands on his hips and a weary look on his face.

“No. I don’t know...no.”

“Do you want me on my knees begging forgiveness?” 

“Right now I don’t even want you near me.” 

He shook his head in an ‘I give up’ manner and stalked out of the room. She heard him rattling around in the kitchen and pouring himself a drink. A few minutes later he headed upstairs for a good bit, later re-emerging in his pajamas and holding a paperback. She pretended to be completely absorbed in her phone and pointedly ignored him. He settled in his chair and began to read with a great sigh, willing to wait her out.

They sat in an uncomfortable silence for an hour or so, neither one willing to give in and apologize to the other. The Priest finally uncurled himself from his chair, walked over to her, and gave her a kiss on the crown of her head along with a shoulder squeeze. Then he headed back upstairs, presumably to bed.

She waited awhile before she finally headed up herself, angry with the way their weekend started. The Priest was fast asleep when she entered the bedroom, so she quietly prepared for bed before turning off the light and crawling in beside him, lying curled up on her side with her back to him. 

A few minutes later he rolled onto his side, his arm instinctively wrapping around her hip with such ease that it made her want to cry. He was snoring lightly behind her, apparently forgiving her for her outburst in his sleep. 

Sometimes the feeling of being loved so completely and unconditionally was so unfamiliar and overwhelming to her, and tonight was no exception. A fight like this with Harry would surely have become another of their many break-ups, with him scouring the flat in a weepy rage before walking out yet again. Fights with her Priest hurt her so much more, though. She’d been needy and insecure _(though my anger was completely justified_ , she thought bitterly), and her crack about his parishioners was out of line. She knew he loved her, but sometimes it was hard to share him with so many others who also needed his love. She started to cry silently out of frustration, more than anything wanting a do-over of the night. 

She heard him awaken behind her, and his hand slid down to cover hers, where he linked his fingers in between hers. This made her cry harder, knowing he wanted to comfort her even though she had been so insolent to him earlier. He really was a much more forgiving person than she was, an offset of his profession, she supposed. He had finally started to learn when to push her and when to back off whenever she got like this, which she was grateful for. She clasped their conjoined hands against her chest, holding them close until her tears finally subsided.

She sniffed loudly and turned over to face him, finding him waiting patiently for her. He swept his thumb across her cheeks to dry her tears, and she fixed him with a look that she hoped conveyed how she felt: _I’m sorry about earlier_.

His brow knitted and he shook his head slightly: _Forget it._

She gave a small relieved smile and leaned in to kiss him gently. His hand curled behind her head and pulled her nearer, deepening the kiss as their bodies gradually moved closer together. Not breaking their kiss, she climbed on top of him and kicked off the duvet. She slowly moved his shirt up inch by inch, finally breaking away from him long enough to pull it off and then doing the same with her own shirt before lowering herself back onto him, chest to chest and mouth to mouth, little breathy moans coming from them both. The stress of the day and their fight ebbed away with each slow grind of her hips against his, and they eventually engaged in an awkward wrestling match as they each helped the other remove their pajama pants.

She sighed with relief when she finally sank down onto him, keeping eye contact and locking their hands together on the pillow before going in for another kiss. She kept the pace slow and sensual, wanting to prolong the feeling of being filled and loved by him. More than anything he wanted to roll them and drive into her, but he knew she needed to be the one to take control tonight. She sucked on his earlobe, shifting her hips for a better angle and was soon breathing her orgasm into his ear with a long moan. He turned his head and kissed her, unable to use his hands since she still had her fingers locked tightly with his, breathing heavily and groaning against her lips when at last he blissfully released into her. 

She gradually brought her hips to a still and laid on him for a bit before climbing off and resting her arms across his chest, chin resting on her hands as her head rose and fell while he caught his breath. He grinned at her, cupping one of his newly released hands against her cheek and whispering, “Want to start over?”

She nodded. “Yeah,” she whispered, a small smile on her lips.

“Hi, love, I’m so sorry I’m late,” he started. “I was caught up in an emergency with a parishioner, but I know now it was unforgivably rude not to duck into the loo or hallway to send you a quick message so you weren’t left stewing in anger and planning my demise.” 

“Thank you,” she said, kissing his chest. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m sorry for the way I reacted, not giving you a chance to explain before biting your head off. But I’m not sorry about being angry.”

“Understandable.”

“It’s just that I had a horrific day and all I could focus on was this…this moment right here, where we shut out everything and everyone and it’s just you and me. Not knowing where you were was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“That bad, eh?” he gave her a sympathetic look while he stroked her hair lovingly.

“Awful in an ‘I’m going to burn down this fucking café and light a cigarette off the flames’ bad.”

“Well, in that case,” he said, shifting slightly and opening his arms wide, inviting her to snuggle in. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, kissing her forehead and holding her close. “Tell me all about it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Re: Ch 1&2: I originally wanted each scenario to be its own chapter, but this one just got a little out of control, so it's being split between 2 chapters. Enjoy!


End file.
